


Vanished. (Neon)

by GingerGinny



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Allura is a merciful god, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, And Allura isn’t actually god, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Detective Keith, Detective Shiro, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, Keith is an idiot when it counts, Lance has depression, Langst, M/M, Magic, Past Shadam - Freeform, Slow Burn, Thief Lance, Urban Fantasy, allura has ocd, dont think too hard about it, id love to tag this as cyber punk, klance, klangst, plaxum - Freeform, speaking of Pidge she’s a brat and I love her, you just gotta wait a long time for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerGinny/pseuds/GingerGinny
Summary: Lance fell asleep looking up at the clouds and wondering how in the actual fuck it came to this. To this small apartment where the three of them resorted to petty theft and stockpiling healing potions. How they didn’t have fully working lights because every bit of electricity was needed for powering Pidge’s supercomputer to find Matt.Matt. Matt, someone Lance hadn’t even met but was now dedicating to finding. Who had somehow been the basis for Lance and Hunk getting kicked out of the academy- scholarships halted, expelled immediately.-----------------------Keith swallowed a gulp of lukewarm coffee. The brick steps he was crouched on hurt his legs and the sun finally peeked up over the city. He pretended not to even notice.There was work to be done.Someone had to be found.





	1. Prologue

Nyma’s lips were coated in gloss so thick that Lance could see his own reflection. The shiny bubblegum pink looked like melted sugar across her mouth and he could feel the stickiness from a foot away. “We can only offer you a five minute window, in and out.”

 

Lance pulled at the edge of his shirt. It was a little frayed where he’d got it caught on the fire escape that morning, a thin blue strand unraveling at his fingertips. “No problem. Bet I could get in and out in three.”

 

The bright pink lips pursed, then pulled into a smirk. “Awfully confident, Lance.”

 

“I know. It’s because I’m the best.” He added a wink for flourish as Nyma’s companion rolled his eyes. 

 

“Jesus Christ. Listen, Blue,” Rolo interrupted, “We can’t pull you out of there if you get caught--”

 

“I’ve never been caught.” 

 

Lance watched the outline of Rolo’s jaw clench. “ _ If you get caught,  _ we can’t pull you out. We’re going to be running a booth out by the west hallway and I’m not going to lose a day of business to save your ass. We’ll get you in and distract the owners, the crystals should be in plain sight. Then you--”

 

“Run like hell.” Nyma finished for him, draping herself against Rolo’s shoulder. “I hope these are worth it, Blue.” 

 

Ever a tease, Nyma winked at him. She reached out and in a swift movement planted a kiss on Lance’s cheek-- he could feel the sticky gloss cling to him. The warm, cinnamon like sensation of Love heated his skin. It felt like holding a warm cup of tea against his cheekbone. 

 

Count on Nyma to have Love infused makeup.

 

“Let us know you got out when you’re done.” She said, drawing a line against Lance’s jaw. “Don’t fall for any dumbass tricks, Blue.”

 

He nodded and choked a little on his own spit and air. Nyma was hot; Rolo was  _ terrifying.  _ He could practically feel the eyes boring into his temple like lasers. He swallowed hard and took a step back. It was almost go time.

 

Now or never, McClain. 

 

“Listen, Blue. Grab it and go.” Lance looked up at Rolo. The older trader man looked at Lance like he was a soldier about to go out into battle, and Rolo was the one having to brief him for the first time. It was… unsettling. “We wouldn’t have tipped you off if we didn’t think you could do this.”

 

Something clicked inside Lance and he smirked. “Yeah, I know. I’ll hit you guys up with the results later.”

 

Rolo nodded, and Lance turned heel. It was time to blend like he belonged.

 

* * *

 

Lance was all neon lights and tan skin. He didn't look real; you had to tilt your head and look at the shimmering aura engulfing him to actually see him- even then he’d just be the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. He was long legs and slim limbs that cast a purple glow under the harsh blue lights of the dark city around him. Iridescent and smooth.

 

Lance is blue; He walks in a veil of Now You See Me and Now You Don’t. The charms aren’t quite invisibility so they aren’t  _ technically _ illegal- he just blends rather than disappears. It’s masking and it’s fluid, like a calm lake in moonlight. Ever changing to blend into cityscape. During the charms he exists in a place that’s just out of the corner of everyone’s eyes, slipping into the darkest corners of the city like water. 

 

He brushes past a pair of girls heading towards the ‘abandoned’ cannery a few blocks south of the waterfront; Neither of them completely notice him, too caught up in conversation to pay attention. Decked out in their rave gear makes them the opposite of Lance, each one bright and outstanding. One girl cranes her neck to do a double take after Lance rushes by them and by the time she turns Lance has moved to a different alley. All that’s left is a slight feeling of unease. That watchful feeling that makes the girls speed up and abandon their conversation. 

 

Good. Let them go have fun and leave the dark city corners dark.

 

Windows and doors fog over as he strides past them, hiding his figure from the inside. Everything becomes muted and blurred like hot steam crawling over glass panels. A thousand miles away there are police sirens and they’re not because of him. Nothing is happening because of him right now. 

 

The thought hits him-- he could disappear right now and nothing would be amiss. The world would be missing one misplaced and hidden Cuban boy. Hardly something to be noticed by anyone; definitely not important enough to hit the Altean police radar.

 

Not anymore.

 

Lance folds himself up into an alleyway between a lackluster apartment building and an overbuilt restaurant that smells like fish. It's here that he has the faintest aura of silky blue, and it lights his path up an old fire escape. 

 

Seven flights up drafty metal and threading himself through a barely cracked window, Lance lets the charms waver and slip off him like a veil. He stops blending and the aura fades to nothing, just business as usual. He’s back and tucked away in a private corner of the world.

 

His shoes come off first as vines twist back over the window. They’d spread to let him enter; natural curtains that blend the apartment in. They were charmed to only spread open for the current residents of the apartment.

 

(Pidge had based them off of Devil’s snare from Harry Potter- they freak Lance the hell out but he doesn’t comment.)

 

The living room is still. There's no movement except from the resettling plants, and the lights are all switched off. He can't remember the last time they were actually on. Regardless of the dark though, Lance distinctly hears someone furiously typing away in another room, and the entire place smells like salty sourdough. 

 

It's a penetrating smell that grows as he walks into the kitchen. Clearly it's had time to marinate and saturate the entire apartment; it's the smell of someone who moves emotions into food, and is particularly unhappy.

 

Shit. 

 

“Hey, Hunk,” Lance starts as he eases into the light. “Miss me?”

 

The taller boy ignored him and focused on the task at hand. While the salt smell remains, the sour aroma vanishes.  Lance finds it easier to breathe once it’s gone.

 

Stripping off his jacket, he peered over Hunk’s broad shoulder- some jittery black beans are having the worst day of their lives. Hunk crushes them methodically and scoops them into his palm, dropping them into a boiling stock pot. It fizzes like soda at their presence. 

 

“I brought you a gift,” Lance bribes the quiet chef, pulling out a burlap wrapped package from his shirt. “If you stay mad at me, I’ll just have to give it to Pidge.”

 

The potion sputtered loudly, making both of the boys jump. Hunk quickly covered it with a lid and dialed the temp down to low before turning towards Lance. 

 

God, he looks tired. Lance's smile takes a solid hit. 

 

“Next time can you just let me know when you’re gonna take off?” Hunk sighed, “We got worried.”

 

Lance held out the package and beamed, dropping the burlap into outstretched hands. “Sure thing.”

 

“‘Cause it’s just like, you’ve been doing it a lot lately and we totally understand that you need your space and personal life things. But, with how much Pidge has been on edge lately and how we’re not exactly all, you know, synced? It’s concerning to come home and find you-”

 

“Hunk-”

 

“Gone.” 

 

A final statement. Hollow. A solid weight that hits Lance square in the chest and makes him wince. 

 

Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred.

 

“I know. I’m sorry, but trust me, this was worth it. Open it.” 

 

Hunk hesitated and the light around them flickered. All the energy for lighting was being rerouted for something more important; Lance estimates about an hour or two is left before all the lights go out. “C’mon, Hunk, when have I ever lead you wrong?”

 

He got a loud snort in response, but the burlap unraveled anyways. The cloth peeled away to reveal a small handful of balmera crystal chunks; Radiant and golden in the warm overhead lights. The pieces were roughly the size of a strawberry, rough and angular in every way. Each one clunked over the others when Hunk picked them up, rolling them between his fingers. 

 

“Lance, how did you...” He asked, drawing out the words. Hunk was mesmerized, watching the crystal light cast thin shadows over his skin. 

 

“Nyma tipped me off.” Lance grabbed a roll that Hunk had left out. “Rolo spotted it at the old trader’s market uptown during their last shipment. So I checked it out and it turns out it’s all they managed to get through the city lines.”

 

The chunks seemed to resonate a soft hum as they moved from Hunk’s worn hands back into their burlap wrapping, where their glow was dulled. The radiant look they had out in the light was muted in brown. Earlier that same burlap had been pressed into Lance's skin to hide it; his cloaking spell wasn't the best at hiding objects that weren't Lance.

 

“Hunk, listen,” He went on, picking at the roll and dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m going to go back there tomorrow. I wasn’t able to find anything there on Matt; but there’s so many new people coming into the city through that north port. Someone knows something. They have to.”

 

Hunk bit his lip, releasing it slowly enough that it left white streaks. He glanced up and for a brief moment looked at Lance, but immediately directed his attention to something over Lance’s shoulder. 

 

A tired, irritated voice sounded behind him. “Someone knows something?”

 

The coffeemaker in the corner started up with a flick of Pidge’s hand. The sentient plants on the walls reached out to her as she scuffled by and she stopped to briefly scratch the small hanging bundle of catnip. “What’cha got there?” 

 

“Balmera crystals.” Lance and Hunk stated at the same time.

 

Pidge stopped and snapped her head towards Lance. It was terrifying, and Lance swore the catnip hissed at him. 

 

“Pure Balmera crystals, Pidge, look,” Hunk started, bringing the bundle over to her. “Enough to rework and support the entire system. We can actually get the lights back on.” 

 

She picked up a chunk warily and held it up to her glasses. Her face scrunched up as she stared in scrutiny; her eyes slowly widening as she examined the opaque mass. The catnip sadly tried to lean into her touch as she distractedly pulled away. 

 

“Neat, huh?” Lance asked. 

 

“How did you…” She echoed Hunk, her eyes darting up from the shiny object.

 

Lance smirked and with a wink, snapped his fingers at the duo. "Now you don’t."

 

The thin oil-like sheen Lance had donned earlier in the night came back in a second. It engulfed him and he blurred into the brick background of the kitchen. It'd taken him years to get it to this level of clarity where there was no immediate difference between him and his surroundings. The ability to blend seamlessly; but not entirely. He watched as Pidge squinted and turned her head, trying to look at him out of her peripheral vision. 

 

He got up as silently as possible and snuck around to their opposite side, neither of them following his movements. Time didn't move slower or faster, but it seemed to take Lance an eternity to slip one of the balmera crystals out from Hunk's hands and into his sleeve. The sleeve may have been an extra step;  Lance was still experimenting with making other things blend in with him. Most things, unless incredibly small, had to already be on his body when he set the charm or they'd stick out. 

 

"Lance?" Hunk asked the air where Lance had been sitting. "Buddy?" 

 

Tip-toeing behind Pidge, Lance leaned in over her shoulder. "Boo!" 

Pidge flipped around and knocked the Balmera crystals out of Hunk's hands. They scattered in every direction, casting little golden shadows as they escaped under the dark cabinets. Lance just laughed.

 

"Knock it off!" Pidge demanded, flinching away when Lance blew a raspberry in her ear. 

 

Lance pulled himself back up on the counter and crossed his legs, whispering the countercharm under his breath. "Now you see me." 

 

He reappeared, nimbly twirling the Balmera crystals in his fingers. "Hiya, babes." 

 

"Holy shit! Ho- You actually did it!" Pidge gasped, momentarily forgetting the scattered crystals. 

 

"Uh, of course?" He retorted. "I'm only the very best at everything, Pidge." 

 

As Hunk bent down to pick up the escaped Balmera crystals, Pidge stared at Lance in awe. It was a rare moment-- Lance reviled in it. "Really blew your socks off, huh?"

 

"How did you get the charm to last so long?" Hunk asked, rewrapping the burlap tightly. "I thought you couldn't sustain it for more than a few seconds?" 

 

Lance grabbed his roll and took a chunk out of it. "Magic stuff." 

 

"Seriously, Lance."

 

"I'm dead serious!" Lance protested, spitting a chunk of bread out. 

 

The coffeemaker in the corner dinged and Pidge floated a mug over. The coffee poured itself out to the brim of its own accord. A simple lifting charm; Hunk had maxed out every household charm he could think of that would save on electricity. 

 

They fell silent for a moment. Hunk had gone to stir the potion sitting on the stove top; it smelled much less salty now, less like a beach. The sloshy liquid from before had boiled down to a rosy syrup that Hunk delicately spooned out. Lance watched and absentmindedly fiddled with the Balmera crystals, his eyes trained on the rosey elixir folding in on itself. 

 

It was like the elixir was reality, and the jar was Lance’s head.

 

“If I can get all this rewired by tonight,” Pidge said slowly, drawing attention, “We should be able to power the entire apartment for… awhile.” 

 

She held up two pieces of Balmera crystals to compare them, framing Lance in the background. “Do you think you can get some things for me from that seller’s market?” 

 

“I’ll do my best, just make me a list.” 

 

He got no response in any form. He’d gone from the source of anger to fascination to nothing in the course of a few minutes; Something in the back of his head throbbed. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. ‘M a bit drained from that spell, need my beauty sleep and whatnot.”

 

Pidge took a sip of coffee and didn’t look up at him as she grabbed the rest of the Balmera crystals. She had bags under her eyes, her hair covered in split ends and pinned back in short ponytails. There was an underlying current in her head of a thought process Lance couldn’t even begin to imagine, but he’d guess that she’d be up until she got the power fixed. Ten hours, twenty hours, fourty-- however many antisleep and caffeine charms she could handle until the problem at hand was solved. Then, onto the next one. 

 

“Night, Lance. Hunk.” 

 

She left the room and the catnip tried to follow, thwarted by it’s hanging prison.

 

Hunk looked back at Lance; Lance looked back at Hunk. They both watched Pidge leave in silence. The blue boy slid down from his countertop perch and made his way over to hunk, leaning against the cabinet next to him. Up close, the rose elixir had a much more gelatin-like consistancy. 

 

“Weird, huh?” He asked as Hunk spun a lid onto a filled jar. “That we’re here. Like this.” 

 

“I guess. I can’t imagine what we would have been anymore.” Hunk chuckled. It was a warm, reassuring sound that reminded Lance of easier days. “An astronaut and an engineer.” 

 

“A thief and a potion-maker.” 

 

Lance saw the glance Hunk shot him, but didn’t return it.

 

“What’s the potion for?” 

 

Another jar was filled with the rosy pink substance. Hunk slid it across the counter to Lance, who instinctively capped it with a metal lid. 

“Technically it’s a healing potion, meant to treat small injuries and wounds. But it’s actually jam packed with vitamins and nutrients and all that good stuff that stops us from keeling over dead,” Hunk pulled a grease pencil out of his apron, “So it’s actually a recipe of my own creation!” 

 

The date was jotted down on each jar top. For added flair, Hunk drew a little flower next to each date.

 

“It’s like a food substitute. Making this whole batch was cheaper than buying ingredients for a different dinner each night. All we need to do is spread it over bread or mix it in with oats-- or even eat it straight!”

 

Hunk gleamed with pride and the kitchen seemed to glow. Lance smiled back but even he knew the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 

They’d resorted to eating nutrient jam for each meal to survive.

 

Fantastic. 

 

“Hey, Hunk, can you make me a promise?” Lance asked, cutting Hunk off in the middle of a breath. Something about flavoring or whatever.

 

“Uh, sure, yeah! What?” 

 

He rolled one of the jars in his hand- it was still hot. “When we get the power up and running again, can we have garlic knots for dinner?” 

 

“Yeah, buddy. First thing on the menu.” Hunk replied. It was a soft answer.

 

Lance tossed the jar in his hand before looking back towards Hunk. He smiled. “Great! See you in the morning.” 

 

The jar was set down a little too roughly and the moment Lance turned the corner, Hunk lifted it to make sure it wasn’t cracked.

 

* * *

 

Lance left Hunk in a hurry and navigated himself down the dark hallway. He barely let his aura bloom enough for him to see his own feet; A full day of heavy charms made his aura an almost non-existent glow. 

 

Faded portraits and posters lined the walls to his room; Posters for bands he and Hunk had gone to see when they’d snuck away from the academy. Relics from what felt like a long ago era, not a year. Lance didn't want to see them.

 

The only room with lights in it was Pidge’s. It escaped through the little crack between her door and the floor, making little rays that ran over Lance’s feet as he passed. There was faint typing on the otherside-- Pidge didn’t sleep if she could help it. In a way he understood. Sleep meant nothing more than time wasted while Matt was missing. He was gone somewhere out there in the folds of Altea and not even physical human restraints could slow Pidge down. 

 

His own room, however, was not a functioning Matt-finding machine. It was shrouded in darkness until he walked in and brushed his hand along the opaque clouds lining the ceiling. Real actual clouds he’d made himself that never rained and glowed a bright blue, allowing him to see clearly. He was a blue based magic user; it came with perks like real glow clouds. 

 

Stripping out of his street clothes and into looser pajamas, Lance glanced in a mirror. He wouldn’t die from not washing his face tonight, but a quick moisturizing spell would work wonders overnight. 

 

_ “Beauty is only skin deep.”  _ He whispered with a hand flourish.

 

A cool cucumber like sensation ran over his face, erasing what little makeup he had on. He yawned and dangerously swayed towards his bed, collapsing on it in a heap. That was too much magic for the night- he  _ knew  _ it was too much for one day. 

 

Lance fell asleep looking up at the clouds and wondering how in the actual fuck it came to  _ this.  _ To this small apartment where the three of them resorted to petty theft and stockpiling healing potions. How they didn’t have fully working lights because every bit of electricity was needed for powering Pidge’s supercomputer to find Matt.

 

_ Matt.  _ Matt, someone Lance hadn’t even met but was now dedicating to finding. Who had somehow been the basis for Lance and Hunk getting kicked out of the academy- scholarships halted, expelled immediately. 

 

(Actually, that was technically their fault, and Lance knew it. If he really wanted to blame anyone he could blame Pidge, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She’d told them not to follow and Lance had ignored her.  _ Idiot. _ )

 

Hunk was an adult by the time they left. Lance was technically missing in plain sight. 

 

Sleep wasn’t peaceful, but at least he didn’t dream. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Morning air bit at his skin. A recording looped over and over in his hands; grainy figures moving across his tablet screen with an unsettling grace. It was too early and Keith was tired, but there were far more pressing matters. 

 

His coffee tasted burnt. He was ignoring paperwork he had to do. Someone somewhere in the city knew a cloaking charm-- and twelve hours ago they used it to steal. Their slim form slipped under a veil in the corner of the seller’s market, blending into various wares. Keith watched them over and over, focused on the way a handful of crystals disappeared from a local stall. 

 

Balmera crystals, to be exact. Ones that were still in their raw form, crusted in dirt and unpurified.

 

Keith swallowed a gulp of lukewarm coffee. The brick steps he was crouched on hurt his legs and the sun finally peeked up over the city. He pretended not to even notice. 

 

There was work to be done.

 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first Voltron work and I'd just like to throw out there that I am a full time college student so I'm not sure how frequent updates will be. I'm hoping every two weeks. I'd also like to add that I drew a version of Lance for this AU on my art blog which you can find below! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (http://icelandicdraws.tumblr.com/post/169719151742/lance-kinda-mark-zug-inspired-this-version-of) I will quickly add that the summary on the drawing is not the outline for this AU.


	2. High Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! There are probably many typos and I apologize. I’ve taken about a year off of writing and getting back into has been challenging. Regardless, I hope you enjoy <3

 

When he woke, Lance found Pidge and Hunk elbow deep in wiring and electrical cords. Turns out it was a bit more rewiring than Pidge could manage in a night and she was still trying to figure out where to hook in the Balmera crystals. It looked like a hellish puzzle and Lance chose to help by surveying instead.

“Having fun?” He asked over a plain latte.

“Loads.” Pidge replied.

* * *

 

Keith hand waved the blinds open from across the room. Sunlight soaked into the stale air as he stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, tapping the spoon twice before slipping it into the sink. Maybe this time the French pressed coffee would actually taste _good,_ and not like the silty version he was so adept at making.

His whole body thrummed with post-run energy. The cool breeze that ran through the kitchen pulled a sigh from him; had he not been sweaty and hot from running, he would have felt robbed. Something shifted in his chest, like a knot being untied.

Today was going to be a better day. He was far from being an optimist— Shiro said it was against their family’s genetic disposition to be anything but a realist— but there was a feeling in the air. Maybe it was the window that automatically opened when Keith walked in, or maybe it was the fresh bouquet of daisies on the kitchen table. It definitely wasn’t the video looping in his head from this morning- no, it was definitely the daisies. Keith could practically hear them twinkle like wind chimes in the morning sun.

He rolled his neck and closed his eyes. There was the faint thrum of cars on the street outside. A tree not too far away bristled in a stiff breeze and the sweat on his skin was pleasantly chilled. He took a sip of coffee.

There was significantly less silt than there was last time. He took that as a win.

But still, with as calm and soft as the morning was, Keith had a job. Of course he could by all means ignore it and go on with his morning like nothing was the matter. Literally nothing was stopping him. He could walk over to his tablet and kindly respond to Allura’s email with a polite _Sorry, but we’re completely booked right now. Pass it on to a police intern._ Then he’d delete her email completely and when Shiro woke up and inevitably asked if there was any news Keith would respond with a simple no. No, he hasn’t heard anything from Allura.

All is calm on the homefront. _Hey Shiro, could you remake the coffee? Mine tastes silty._

His train of thought sounded less stupid in his head.

There was the distant sound of a floorboard creak above him; Shiro was awake.

Morally he had an obligation to tell Shiro about the job email and attached video. Morally he owed it to Allura, and Keith was sure that if he dug deep enough, he could find a reason why he morally owed it to his late parents. Something, something, family business.  

A car outside honked and Shiro made his way downstairs. The events were unrelated- So was Keith grabbing his tablet from its desktop perch.

“Good morning,” Shiro said, his voice hoarse. “It’s bright in here.”

“Thought we could use the light.” Keith responded. He thumbed through the tablet until the video clip was front and center. “Listen, we got-“

The words died right in his throat. Shiro looked like _shit._ His hair was pushed back in long greasy strings and he was missing the top half of a pajama set; the bags under his eyes made up for the color contrast of light skin and dark pants. Somewhere along the way downstairs he’d lost a slipper, or maybe he’d just been too frenzied to put the other one on.

“Shiro?” Keith asked.

The blinds stayed open but the curtains were drawn. Shiro did it himself, neglecting his magic in exchange for grabbing fistfuls of the curtain material and yanking.

There was a tense silence that accompanied Keith setting the tablet back down. He skirted the half wall between the kitchen and watched Shiro move with the gracefulness of a man who was angry at the world.

“You made coffee?”

“It’s silty.”

Shiro slammed the fridge shut much harder than needed after grabbing milk.

Keith didn’t need to ask if Shiro had had another set of nightmares. It was answer enough when Shiro downed the black coffee, chasing it with milk straight from the carton. Heavy breathing drowned out bristling leaf noises; Shiro had gulped down the milk like his life depended on it. A little dribbled off his chin and ran along his neck until he wiped it off a clenched fist.

He didn’t turn to Keith, instead tilting his head ever so slightly in Keith’s direction.

“You were saying something before.” The milk lid was put back on painfully slowly. “What was it?”

Keith hesitated.

The daisies swayed in the lull of silence.

His morals could go _directly_ to hell.

“Nothing important.” Keith crossed the line between kitchen and living room. “Let’s get some fuel in you. Omelette?"

* * *

 

Turns out the jam Hunk had made tasted faintly like a rose and fresh cantaloupe combo. Lance spread it over toast as he perched up on the kitchen table, watching Hunk and Pidge diligently work. He’d never been an engineer or a programmer himself, nor had he ever strived to be one but _damn_ it was _fascinating_ to watch them work. Hunk held a Balmera crystal in between his lips as he braided neon wires. Pidge would occasionally throw him something useful as she rummaged through a scrap box labeled _Machine Shit._

Great band name, he noted.

The box had been dragged out of the broom closet in the early hours of the morning, way before Lance had even began to wake up. Together Pidge and Hunk had managed to turn the relatively open floor living room into their own mechanic city. No surface within a five foot radius was spared; even the couch was covered in little metal bits and pieces.

They looked like they were having genuine fun. Pidge’s eyes practically glowed for the first time in months.

Stealing was _so_ worth it.  

Lance took a bite of his toast, the jam melting against his tongue. “Hunk, what’s weaved into this?”

It tasted the way looking at the ocean shore felt. He felt his eyelids flutter close as he went to wipe off the excess that’d gotten on his lips. _Damn._

“Calm.” Hunk replied, jamming a Balmera crystal into a metal slot. “I thought we could all use some.”

Lance _loved_ it. He took another eager bite and envisioned rain running down windows. Trust in Hunk to have infused their food with emotions; Each bite was like watching slow waves.

Despite years of academy training for engineering, Hunk was always a master of household and food charms. He’d explained it to Lance years ago- growing up his grandma had taught him everything he needed to make wherever he was living into his home. Their family moved constantly due to his parents being miltary, and the more Hunk found himself friendless or lonely, the better his charming skills got.

Now each meal they had was infused. Emotions had been weaved into the ingredients as the were added, meaning they regularly ate love and calm or whatever Hunk wanted them to feel. It technically took decades of practice and teaching to do it correctly; most people had to get their edible emotions from bakeries or coffee shops.

Hunk just happened to be a miracle worker.

“Marry me.” Lance said. He was already working on his second piece of toast.  

Pidge let out a harsh snort and Hunk smiled.

“Yeah, ok.” The engineer responded, wiggling the Balmera crystal out from its spot. “Shay will love that.”

* * *

 

To Keith’s credit, Shiro did feel better after eating. The migraine pills Keith had slid him during breakfast certainly helped, but the combination of food and fresh air really did the trick.

He heard the audible cracking of Keith’s neck as he stretched and picked up their plates. He was slowly starting to take in his surroundings; it was like he was coming out of a cloud that invaded and consumed his whole head. How he made it downstairs in one piece was honestly a mystery.

“You already did your morning workout?” Shiro asked.

They’d eaten breakfast in silence- mainly because Shiro was shoveling his food in like it was life or death. He had only just noticed the red basketball shorts and T-shirt that the younger man donned.

Keith took his time responding, like he was putting serious thought into his reply. He stood over the sink as he washed the remains of their breakfast away.

Somehow the loud roar of the sink disposal wasn’t what changed the atmosphere. Shiro stood and opened the curtains, breathing in the rush of fresh air. Now that he wasn’t as hostile he wanted to help bring the morning back into the room and lighten the heavy energy that had settled in; the curtains were a good first step.

Between the time he had shut them and now, a light drizzle had started, soft grey clouds wrapping across the sky. The rain sounded like beautiful soft chatter to Shiro.

“Yeah. I was up anyways.”

Shiro fought the temptation to poke his head out the window and let the rain run over his face. His nightmares always had him wake up in a cold sweat, blinking away the flashing lights his mind projected.

Over time he’d gotten progressively better. There were less mornings where he woke up frantic and more where he woke up in time to have breakfast going when Keith got back from his run. Most nights were effortlessly dreamless- He’d regularly attend therapy meetings for them. So, in the spirit of his therapist’s dutiful note taking, Shiro wouldn’t count this as a set back. It was simply another day.

He had far more important things to think about than bad dreams. Keith needed him, Allura needed him, and their business needed him.

Shiro took a deep breath that seemed to fill his whole chest. Keith finished washing the dishes.

* * *

 

Allura sat in annoyance. Keith Kogane- _the_ Keith Kogane was ignoring her. _Again._

Had she not had her hands full of coffee in the back of a taxi she would have called him. Maybe it was to be expected that Keith wasn’t responding, but his silence told her something was up. Even if Keith ignored her with the cool disdain of someone who would willingly let her walk into a board meeting with a coffee stain running down her shirt, Shiro wouldn’t. Shiro always responded to her work related messages.

(Personal messages were another matter, but this morning had been all work. _Urgent_ work.)

So Keith’s silence meant one of two things. Either Keith hadn’t seen her messages this morning and the read receipt on her phone was a glitch, or he was ignoring her. If he was ignoring her _and_ she hadn’t gotten Shiro’s response to the video, it meant another thing. It meant something Allura hating thinking about- Keith had kept information from Shiro.

In the two decades that she’d known the brothers, Keith had only kept information from Shiro for two reasons. The hidden information was either something Shiro would be very disappointed in or something that’d upset him.

There was nothing disappointing about her messages this morning.

By generational habit, Allura liked to work in twos. _Keith_ and _Shiro_ , _good_ and _bad_ , _late_ and _early_ , or _work_ and _personal_. The two system may have been a little too black and white for some, but it worked wonders for her. Her work flew by the more prepared she was to deal with things, and preparedness started with categorization.

This particular situation fell under the following categories: _Shiro, bad, late, work,_ and _personal._

Hence Allura jamming herself into a taxi during her mid-morning break, taking her fair share of rain. The coffees in her hand were a morning gift to the two men she was about to pay a visit to; both a bribe and a peace offering.

She _needed_ them to take this case. This job, this work, that video- it was important. Someone out there had a cloaking charm and wasn’t on the official register. Someone unseen like that who technically avoided the invisibility curse could wreak absolute mayhem. They were a renegade and a threat to all of Altea; Allura needed them found. And, as far as Allura was concerned, Shiro and Keith were the only option.

The taxi slowed to a stop and Allura stepped out, coffees balanced as her high heels hit the gravel driveway.

* * *

 

Lance played with the raindrops that landed on his window. Exercising his fingers slowly he could manipulate the raindrop’s path, running them horizontally against the windowpane. They grouped together to form larger, fatter droplets that Lance let fall into streams.

It wasn’t a secret that he loved rain. He had a blue aura- it was rarer to find someone with a blue aura that hated rain than loved it. When he was young he’d don a hand-me-down raincoat that dwarfed him completely as he sprinted out into the rain. It was his older brother’s old coat, adorned with patches and various rips that Lance would tug at while he watched the ocean roar.

The ocean and the rain combined made a masterpiece that Lance could watch for hours. Even as a kid he’d spend rainy days on the sandy beach dunes just watching the water. The tossing and turning of the waves, the cold rain that’d pelt his coat, and the dune grass that would sway around him like it was alive. He remembered harsh chapped lips and his skin being so cold that it turned numb, the same way his brain felt numb staring over the ocean. He missed it. With all his heart he missed it.

Now he just watched raindrops roll down his window. It was like seeing a six second teaser video compared to a feature film; Absolutely no comparison. A lot more empty. Completely empty- but it carried the same essence.

Pidge and Hunk were still out in the living room. They’d paused for lunch (In Pidge’s case, physically dragged away for lunch.) Lance had declined their offer to join him and now waited in his room for Nyma to text him back.

In the meantime, Lance couldn’t help but stare out across the city view he had. Somewhere out there was the memory of his old self; A bright, young cadet fresh from Cuba and ready to learn. Someone that studied English until he had become fluent before he’d even arrived in Altea. Someone who was able to do little beauty charms for fun and studied hard for a chance into the Altean space program.  He was going to go to space and he was going to _kick alien ass._

Lance yawned. When the hell did he get so melancholy?

Maybe it was the jam and toast.

"Hunk? I think I found a side-effect to the jam."

* * *

 

The general feeling of the room could choke a man. It was tense and awful and not the kind of tense that could be broken through with laughter, but more of the kind that lingered in the principal's office after Keith was expelled.

Shiro looked like a marble statue. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and his face was folded into the familiar expression of pure stress. He had pulled on a slightly stained white shirt and showered quickly when Allura had shown up- now the three of them remained in silence. 

The man hadn’t even touched the coffee Allura had bought him. She didn’t take it personally like normally would have.

“How many Balmera crystals did they take?” Shiro gritted out through clenched teeth. “Is it a major concern?”

Keith wished he could offer some solace other than: “Eight or nine. Probably less.”

“It’s not domestic terrorism that we’re looking at, Shiro.” Allura reassured. “This isn’t… we’re not focusing on that.”

Keith bristled at the almost tired tone of Allura’s voice. “This isn’t a repeat of Zarkon, Shiro. It’s some unregistered asshat with a cloaking charm. The amount of crystals they took could maybe power a fucking flashlight.”

Shiro looked up slowly. His eyes landed on Keith’s folded arms. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

They made unyielding eye contact and Keith shifted the leg he balanced on. “I needed to think.”

It wasn’t a lie, but none of Shiro’s stress lines disappeared.

“So what Keith told me is true,” Allura cut in, “You’re having the nightmares again.”

Despite the light flooding the indoors, the corners of the room darkened. Allura stood out like a beacon in her white Dior suit as Shiro’s aura pressed into the darkness.

Keith didn’t need to hear the words come from Shiro’s mouth to know what he was asking.

“Yeah, I did tell her. We need to investigate this and-” Keith glanced at Allura, swallowing his words. His mouth felt dry as she looked at him. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure where to take the rest of his sentence and mentally passed it on to Allura.

“We’re a team, Shiro.” Allura filled in. She took a step forward and kneeled, leveling herself to Shiro’s height.

Even like this he was taller than her. Actually she knew exactly how different they were height wise-- three inches on the dot. Years ago Allura had gotten into the habit of wearing flats around Shiro, but… that’d changed. Now she wore heels almost everyday and they aided her absolutely none in this situation.

“We’re a team, and we need to work together. If something is wrong or if something is the matter, please, _please_ share it,”-- She put a hand on his arm hesitantly-- “Let us help you carry the load. The weight of the world is not on just your shoulders, Shiro. Altea chose us and it needs us now, in any way we can help.”

Shiro let out a sigh so deep that the corners brightened. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Allura. You too, Keith.”

Keith didn’t respond to the apology. He wasn’t sure quite how to.

Yeah, okay, so Allura was right in a way. Altea needs _her_ , head of their law enforcement and daughter of the former head of Altea. She was literally _born_ to be needed by the people. But him and Shiro? Altea didn’t choose them. Allura chose them. An outsource for cases that were too big for Allura to take on alone.  

Small time detectives; One with harrowing PTSD and the other an academy dropout.

They were quite the team indeed.

“Alright, let’s start with what we know.” Shiro said, his voice fixed with resolve. “Keith?”

The younger man stood to attention. He pulled put the tablet and set up the looped video, passing it off to Shiro.

“They stole maybe nine raw Balmera crystals, basically useless unless they know how to harness it.” Keith answered. “And they’re not stockpiling it for anything major. The report says that the police already checked with the vendor. Nothing else was taken and this is the first theft of its kind.”

“They’re not running or stocking it?” Shiro questioned. “Maybe they know how to use it themselves.”

“To master both a cloaking charm of that magnitude and have the resources to refine Balmera crystals,” Allura rose to her feet, “Means that we’re looking for a genius.”

Shiro reached out for his coffee and Keith rolled his eyes at the smile Allura had. Maybe as a team they did have some sort of chemistry together. It just felt a bit unevenly weighted if he was honest.

“Nothing major, simple power, not stockpiled, unregistered cloaking charm.” Shiro muttered. He watched the figure on screen move. “You’re sure that this isn’t someone registered?”

“Absolutely. I did the checks myself, It’s why I came to you two. There’s only three people on the list of cloakers and all are accounted for, meaning that this is someone who is self-taught.”

Allura crossed the room like a model down a catwalk. She paused and snapped her fingers-- the whiteboard against the wall wiped itself clean. A marker uncapped and hovered over the board, ready to record their musings.

“We’re looking for someone with natural magic talent. They know enough about laws to avoid tripping the invisibility curse.”

“Who doesn’t know about the invisibility curse?” Keith scoffed.

Allura turned on one sharp heel to face him. Both she and Shiro had the same expression; confused with raised eyebrows of curiosity. “Pardon?”

Keith huffed and looked between the two. Neither expressions changed and his shrug threw neither one off. “Are you two serious?”

“Explain.” Shiro said. It was a blunt answer.

“Every student at the academy knows about the curse. Any charm done to turn a person completely transparent was immediately recorded on Altean police radar. Punishment includes a fine, imprisonment, and an entire family evaluation. Kids used to try and cast them on each other to get one another in trouble.”

Allura looked utterly distraught. “You must be kidding.”

“No.” Keith said. “I’m really not.”

It was somewhere between urban myth and fact at the academy. Keith had never really cared too much for trends like that; he had his home life to worry about. Besides, most of the kids dumb enough to actually try to use an invisibility charm failed to notice two things: The caster of the charm would get in more trouble than the person being charmed, and that invisibility charms were almost fucking impossible.

That’s what made the difference between invisibility and cloaking. Invisibility was illegal and had such heavy consequences because of its very nature. An invisible person could do anything: Slip into locker rooms, trespass, spy on foreign officials, and learn top secret information. A cloaked person could technically always be seen, and the charm was so damn hard to use that only a few people had ever been able to pull them off. Rumor had it that if you could pull off a cloaking charm you were added to a list, and made into a spy for Altea.

The list part was apparently very true.

There was silence in the room as Shiro and Allura exchanged a prolonged glance.

“So, in theory,” Shiro started, “We could be looking for a student.”

“Or a recent graduate.” Allura added. “Maybe a dropout? Someone with a grudge against the system.”

There was a pause. Something shifted in the room as the marker squeaked away on the board. _Unregistered, genius, student, knows how to refine Balmera._

It took Keith a few blinks before he noticed what was happening around them.

Each corner of the room was beginning to darken again, but this time with less of the foreboding darkness and more of a grey fog. Shiro was thinking and so lost in his thoughts that they were physically manifesting. His eyes never pulled away from the figure on screen as he watched them nimbly move.

“Keith, I want a list of academy dropouts, recent graduates, and expelled students.” Shiro took a moment for his brain to sort out. “Focus on ones with top marks- actually scratch the dropouts. Just graduated students and expelled ones.”

The figure looped on screen again. “Also narrow it down to a list of all the left handed ones.”

Keith was on it. He took his tablet back from Shiro and pulled open a folder of resources he’d saved- all links that Allura had sent them with official clearance. Thanks to her influence in the Altean police, he and Shiro had access to almost all of the police data bases. It made their work easier, Allura insisted. The more that Keith and Shiro had access to, the more they were able to aid Altean police.

One link lead to the Academy database with hundreds of student records; Keith knew that somewhere in there was his own record. He clicked through to it and watched the familiar orange school uniforms pop up in student photos.

His own record would show up when he filtered through the expelled students. There were so few of them that he’d come up as one of the more recent ones, despite being expelled over a year ago. His school photo still sported the Academy’s orange suit, same as everyone else’s.

ALTEAN SCIENCE ACADEMY 

OFFICIAL STUDENT INFO SHEET 

NAME: Keith Ji-Woo Kogane (Unstylized: Kogane Ji-Woo Keith), PERM. ADDRESS: City of Altea [REDACTED], BIRTHPLACE: City of Altea, PARENT INFO: John and Jung-Ja Kogane (NOTE: Parents deceased. Please contact current guardian and half brother Shiro Takashi if needed.) BLOOD TYPE: O Positive, PLEASE SEE ATTACHED NOTES FOR PHYSICAL INFO.

BRIEF SUMMARY 

GPA 2.5

[SUMMARY REDACTED. SEE ATTACHED NOTE FOR EXPULSION PURPOSES]

Keith didn’t look at the note. He knew what it said already. That last day in the principal's office was burned into his psyche forever. The way Shiro looked down at him, the way the principal said his name like it was in remembrance; Like he too way dead and the principal was in mourning.

_“I’m sorry to say we’ve lost one of our best students. You’re bright, Keith, the school board and myself hope to see you have a prosperous future.”_

_“Sir, please.” Shiro pleaded. “I know Keith messed up, but I think with a second chance-”_

_“This was his second chance. In fact,” The principle held Keith’s gaze. “This was your third chance.”_

_“But-”_

“Keith? Anything?”

Keith blinked. Shiro was looking at him expectantly, a mix of concern on his face.

The younger man snapped back to reality and clicked off of his own record. His image settled into a neat row alongside eight other pictures, all graced in futuristic orange.

“In the past decade there were nine students expelled from the Academy. I can send you the info on the last few years of graduates, Shiro.”

“Great. I’ll get started cross checking for left-handed graduates while you cover the others, Keith.” Shiro retrieved his own tablet from it’s resting place, opening up the link from Keith. “Allura, can you start seeing which students stayed in Altea after graduation?”

“Shiro, are we certain that this could be a student? Current or former?” Allura asked. Despite the question she pulled a slim laptop out of her bag that she’d dropped by the door, joining the brothers at their desks. “Shouldn’t we broaden our search groups?”

Neither of them responded. Allura huffed as she wiped off the desk she sat down at.

“You were the one that suggested it.” Keith muttered. He clicked through a student profile-- someone had been expelled for setting the gym on fire. Manually, without magic. They probably weren’t the genius they were hunting for.

Each student had a physical exam taken at the academy. Things like appearance didn’t fall under needed information, but things like height, weight, and dexterity were recorded. Something about data collecting and trend info that academy research students sought for- was there a certain type of person that was more biologically inclined to be an engineer or a pilot?

Maybe. Keith never really gave two shits about the data trends while at the academy. Research students were so out of his way of general thinking that they could have told him all expelled students were half Korean and he wouldn’t have cared.

(They weren’t. It was just him.)  

But in this moment, Keith could have thanked every single research student at the academy. Their hunt for useless data and trends lead to quite a few academy students (Those that had participated) in having their hand dominance listed in their records. Deep, deep in their records under _Notable School Activities and Achievements._

So, out of nine expellies, three had the hand dominance study recorded in their records.  Two right handed students and a leftie; A pilot that’d been been expelled not long after Keith.

_ALTEAN SCIENCE ACADEMY_

_OFFICIAL STUDENT INFO SHEET_

NAME: Alejandro Lance McClain, PERM. ADDRESS: City of Altea- Academy dorms, BIRTHPLACE: Varadero, Cuba, PARENT INFO: Cian and Juanita McClain, BLOOD TYPE: B Negative, PLEASE SEE ATTACHED NOTES FOR PHYSICAL INFO.

BRIEF SUMMARY 

GPA 3.9

[SUMMARY REDACTED. SEE ATTACHED NOTE FOR EXPULSION PURPOSES]

  


“I found something.” Keith announced.

Shiro and Allura both stopped what they were doing to look up. Keith had pulled up the ex-student’s info and his picture. A cocky, lopsided smile beamed at them from Keith’s tablet.

“Alejandro McClain. A pilot program dropout, year eleven.”

Allura reached out for the tablet and took it from Keith’s hands. She held it up for her and Shiro to see, clicking through the record slowly.

“Same year and program as you, Keith.” Shiro noted. “Do you remember him?”

Keith shook his head. He’d had more important things to focus on at the academy than his classmates; All he knew about this boy was that they were in the same program. He knew more about him now than he ever did in person.

“Oh, goodness,” Allura gasped. She flipped through Alejandro’s file and settled on his redacted student summary. “ _This student is an example of the gold standard that Altea Academy strives for. Alejandro, or as his classmates call him, Lance, is one of the brightest students at Altea Academy. Lance has fantastic grades despite multiple failed simulator tests and is dedicated student in all his subjects. He is noted especially for his top-of-the-line magic scores (he holds the current record for highest test scores in all magic related subjects) and for his extracurricular activities. Lance is an outgoing extrovert who routinely volunteers for school research studies and is involved with his fellow students. He is a full scholarship student and a proud international student.”_

Jesus Christ. Keith could vomit right onto his desk.

The three of them sat in the silence after Allura finished and passed back the tablet. The new information stewed in the air around them. It made Keith itch.

“What exactly was he expelled for?” Shiro asked.

“Looks like he was caught breaking into the schools mainframe and stealing equipment from labs. Two others were expelled with him,” Keith paused as he switched profiles. “Pidge Gunderson, a year nine researcher, and Hunk Garret, a year eleven mechanic.”

The marker over the whiteboard squeaked as it rushed to keep up with the information.

“Both were also top of their classes. 4.0 GPAs.”

Shiro looked at Keith. Keith looked at Allura.

The rain outside came down harder than before.

“I think we just found our suspects.” Shiro stated.

"Well," Allura cleared her throat."That was quick."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daaa


	3. Female Robbery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! A bit shorter than I intended but now we can start actual plot stuff, not just world building. I would have gotten this up last night but i couldn't upload off my phone.

Lance wanted something. A  _ something.  _ A person, a place to go, a menial job to do- anything would do. Just something other than sitting around and watching his personal rain clouds go through the motions. They were a milky grey color, cerulean leaking into them like water when Lance twirled a finger. 

Yeah, he was good for stealing. The cerulean curled around the edges of the clouds and Lance gently blew on it, trying to get the colors to swirl. 

Yeah, he was pretty good at making their apartment feel like home. He made faux clouds that drifted from room to room in the technicolor range of morning hues and ones that evaporated when they passed through sunbeams. They were just tricks of the light- just like him when he wanted. 

The cerulean spread like ink on wet paper, but failed to incorporate fully into the grey. 

And yeah, okay, he helped out Pidge and Hunk whenever possible. Mainly by eating food and making witty comments. Sometimes he’d bring home something useful. 

Occasionally he’d actually be of use to them. 

The cerulean pooled in the bottom of the clouds like a dense liquid threatening to spill out. It wouldn’t of course- Lance couldn’t make clouds that had the possibility of actually raining. Elements tied to auras could be manipulated just barely enough to seem like a neat parlor trick; raindrops dragged across window panes. He’d never entertain the idea of making actual clouds- Pidge would murder him with her bare fists if he accidentally rained on her computer. 

It was a little insane how unhealthy he was becoming. Being cooped up in a three room apartment all day and night did nothing for him emotionally or mentally. He knew this. That’s why half an hour later he sat across from Nyma in an all too bubbly cafe, stirring the tapioca bubbles in his tea around. 

Hunk and Pidge hadn’t even noticed Lance sneaking out the vine covered window. 

Nyma had treated Lance for the upteenth time. She’d lured him to the shop with business details and surprised him with a taro bubble tea, pushing the iced drink into Lance’s manicured hands. (Spending all day inside did have one perk; Lance had all the time he needed to make himself look gorgeous.)

He always went a little overboard for Nyma. She might have been in a relationship and he respected that to every inch of the planet, but he still dressed up for her. Still decked himself out in his best clothes and pulled out his more expensive foundation; she deserved (demanded) nothing less.

“So, listen,” Nyma started. Her gloss left a pink ring around the tea straw. “I say that we celebrate.” 

Maybe it was the soft fall of her yellow pigtails that pulled Lance in. The way she twirled a strand of it around her finger and brushed it over her cheek was enchanting. The shimmery makeup on her eyes and the way her yellow low scoop top hung just enough that the baby blue lace of her bra stuck out- it was all so  _ enchanting .  _ She’d done something special to her appearance today; She definitely looked like she was trying to lure Lance into a trap. 

Lance suspected at least three appearance charms. At least three. No one in all of Altea was so naturally beautiful. 

“Celebrate?” He asked.

Actually, he was pretty naturally beautiful. So all of Altea minus one. 

He took a strong sip of tea, catching the tapioca in his cheeks.

“You! Getting the Balmera crystals. Not getting caught,” A pause while she sipped, “For surviving another night.”

There was a hushed moment where she leaned forward and almost gave Lance a heart attack as she reachedacross the table. Her lips were pressed against his ear and he felt the familiar cinnamon-hot sensation of her gloss on his skin. “For  _ cloaking.” _

Her voice was like honey to Lance’s ears. He cracked a smile at her as she pulled away. “Yeah?”

Nyma nodded with her straw between her teeth. 

“Got anywhere particular in mind?” 

He always loved a challenge, and Nyma was offering.

* * *

Lance remembered the first time he met Nyma. The back wall of the  _ Galaxy:  _ a hot priced club somewhere in downtown Altea. Details weren’t important, but Lance still mourned the loss of his three hundred dollars that Nyma stole from him.

* * *

“Lance? Yeah, I remember him.” Bland student number one remarked with a sharp laugh. “I remember him being a fucking idiot in all his simulations.”

“He was good in his magic classes though.” Added an Even Blander student. “He helped me pass my first aid charm class.”

So far the current Altean Science Academy students were giving Lance mixed reviews. Some were positive and remarked on how dedicated or energetic Lance was at, apparently, everything. Others were less… positive. These were the majority. Each student seemingly had their own anecdotal story about Lance and occasionally Hunk.

Never Pidge though; it seemed most forgot Pidge was even a student. 

“Lance had the brightest aura I’ve ever seen. It was like looking into a clear water lake.”

That one got Keith’s attention. “He has a blue aura?” 

The student nodded vigorously. Her ponytail bobbed along with each nod. “Yeah! It was absolutely stunning. Like, um…”

Keith felt almost crowded by the girls as they grouped around him, each one with a different and  _ definitely _ interesting fact about Lance. “His aura was like that one December birthstone! The light blue one?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” A lie said with a completely blank face made the girls back down momentarily. Then it backfired spectacularly. 

Each girl (and the few boys that’d shimmied in) had a different example for exactly which color Lance’s aura was. Keith took notice of a few things: Lance was  _ very  _ popular among the younger students for his looks, he was  _ un _ popular along his own year students except those he’d tutored, and somehow Lance’s aura was described as both sea blue, sky blue, ice blue, and  _ Prince Fucking Charming  _ blue _. _

He added the fucking part himself.  __ It may have been a miracle from God himself that Keith never came face-to-face with Lance during their academy years.

Perhaps the most poetic descriptor was that it was the same luminescent blue shade that glowed from Altean street lights at night. For a perfectly common aura color, the younger students seemed to make Lance out as some academy deity. But from what he’s heard of Lance’s personality? It fit. 

Lance was somehow arrogant and suave, sly and pushy, sweet and gross all in one five foot eleven package.  _ Apparently  _ his first language was Spanish- he’d been part of the official club in his spare time. 

The thought of him was exhausting. 

Keith made a mental note of it all. Allura knew a lot more about the aura colors than he did and there might have been something he was missing because last time he checked, a good portion of the world was blue. It was literally nothing special. 

Unfortunately, Allura had gone back to the office. She’d made a promise to meet them for dinner and left them to do the groundwork. They’d split up to cover more space; Shiro would interview Lance’s former teachers while Keith talked to the students.

Reasonably Keith knew it was because he was the trio’s age and could probably get the students to talk more. They’d trust someone their own age more than they would Shiro- of course that meant Keith was alone surrounded by teenagers. Very obnoxious teenagers drenched in perfume and cologne and it seemed that they either thought they were too good to involve themselves in Keith’s questions, or they wanted to know every last detail.

Honestly? Fuck Shiro for making them split up. If Keith punched a kid in the face he felt he shouldn’t be held accountable. 

They were all pushy and loud, each one vying for attention over-

Something jolted Keith. 

It wasn’t the one girl who was crying as she recalled the way Lance had once said hi to her during orientation week (apparently Lance was also a student leader). Nor was it the boy who was reenacting an apparently hysterically funny failure of Lance’s during the pilot program; no. None of that mattered. 

“-Kogane, right?” 

Keith blinked. Once, twice, again-

“The ace pilot? Dude, you were like, the top pilot in a century.” Someone said, “What happened to you?”

He didn’t have a response for the twelfth year student who cut through the crowd of Lance fans. They were tall and just as bland as the others- Keith wouldn’t have been able to remember his face even if it had been plastered on the inside of his eyelids.

Maybe he was a bit too cynical. 

“Who are you?” Keith replied curtly. 

“You don’t remember me?” The student asked. Fair blonde hair framed an admittedly pretty face, but Keith felt nothing. The student’s smile faltered. “You- you really don’t remember me? Dennis? From the simulations?”

This guy could have been a randomized sim character come to life for all Keith cared. “Nope.” 

“I was your engineer? We literally had every coordinated project together?” Dennis came off as rather awkward to Keith. His face was about as pink as it could get-

Wait. Wait one  _ fucking  _ moment. 

This guy- whoever in the actual hell he was, engineer or not- was  _ flustered.  _ This guy wasn’t just awkward, he was full on embarrassed. 

_ Perfect.  _ Ex-lovers and partners always had details. If he could get this guy to pass on Lance’s contact information, they’d be set. Case closed, thief and cloaker caught, video deleted from tablet. 

“Did you know Lance?” Keith asked, cutting him off. Dennis looked flushed.

“I mean, yeah. We all did. He got kicked out not long after you did, but we never- I was never really-” Dennis made a really interesting noise between a cough and a choke. “I never paid him much attention. He, uh, really wasn’t my kinda guy.”

Well that was just impossible. Dennis was showing every sign of the embarrassed, nervous lover being confronted. Keith had seen it before. So unless this guy was lying or he had some horrible disorder that made him turn bright pink, Keith was missing something. Something apparently only he was missing out on because the entirety of the hall had gone quiet. 

Not a single girl was making a sound- except one who snickered when Dennis turned away.

“Go on then!” She urged, gesturing between Dennis and Keith.

He didn’t have time for this. Whatever play this guy was doing was taking up too much of Keith’s time. There were more students he had to interview. One of these girls probably knew something more-

“Do you have info on Lance or not?” Keith demanded. Crossed arms, scowl on. 

“No, no. Do you really not have any memory of me?” 

Keith glared. “Get to the point. You’re wasting my time.”

“We, uh,” Dennis lowered his tone and leaned in far too close. Close enough that Keith felt a little blocked in against the wall. “We kissed?”

An eye roll. “Look, I don’t care about your relationship with Lance-”

Dennis cut him off. “Not Lance, us. You and me?”

Oh. Oh,  _ Shit.  _

“Year ten during the orientation party?”

Keith didn’t respond. Keith didn’t  _ breathe.  _

“I was just- Could I get your number maybe?” 

Somewhere in some alternate universe, Shiro was laughing his ass off. And honestly?  _ Fuck him.  _

Keith’s flight or fight response kicked in. A second later Dennis found himself being  _ launched  _ backwards into the small crowd of people who, in turn, all screamed. Keith just booked it down the hall. 

* * *

“Gold or blue?” Lance asked, alternating between two shirts on hangers. “Gold? Or blue?”

Nyma pulled open the door to Lance’s dressing room. Neither flinched and Lance made eye contact with her through the mirror. “Which one?” 

“Hold up the blue one again.” She requested. Lance fulfilled it and held the shiny blue material up against his skin. “Go for gold.” 

“Really?”

“Makes your eyes pop, Blue boy.” Nyma said, accentuating the word  _ pop  _ with a lip smack. 

Lance supposed. He felt more comfortable in blue but-

“And I’m buying. So no sneaking.” 

Ah.

Somewhere along the way their friendship had gone from Lance trying to giddily impress Nyma with cheap magic tricks to her practically dragging him around. Gone were the days of light fragment clouds and reverse raindrops, dragged down somewhere between being a fun loving student and his life going to shit. 

He wouldn’t say they were really best friends; Hunk and Pidge were his best friends. No, Nyma was more like an adventurous companion that Lance inadvertently picked up. 

The first time he snuck into  _ Galaxy  _ with Hunk as an underage teen looking for nothing but trouble lead him down a weird path. Nyma started as a head-over-heels crush and now? How do you even begin to explain the relationship between an academy dropout, full-time magician, ex-astronaut pilot and a semi-legal smuggler? 

Granted, Nyma had taught Lance a lot. How to steal convincingly, how to dress to blend in, how to dress to stand out- how to drop his eyelids and let the shoulder of his shirt fall down. Which color brought out his eyes and what charm would make him positively radiant. Maybe not all of what she taught him was the wholesome teachings his mama raised him with; But his mama wasn’t here, and Lance had to survive. 

Lance hung the blue shirt back up. Nyma, in the truest of all realities, owned Lance’s soul. Whatever she wanted to happen would happen. And Lance would be just perfectly fine with it- because Hunk and Pidge had no idea what was going on, and he was their family breadwinner. 

As long as there was food on the table, Lance would do whatever it took to keep it there. 

“I need new lip gloss.” Nyma said as she took the gold shirt. “Wanna help me pick out something for Rolo?” 

It boiled down to this. Nyma enlisted Lance in a world where he did their dirty work, and she provided. Lance got access to the technology that Hunk and Pidge needed back home, and Nyma and Rolo got the goods from whoever it is was Lance had to lure out into the back alley behind  _ Galaxy.  _ Nyma would thank him by slipping details of rare items and pocket change. 

It was sleazy. He wouldn’t ever want Hunk and Pidge to ever know- that kind of disappointment he just couldn’t take. 

_ “Listen, Blue,”  _ Nyma had once told him what felt like decades ago,  _ “These people we take from? They aren’t innocent party goers. They aren’t daring students looking for fun or your average clubber who’s looking for too much of a good thing. They’re nasty people.” _

_ “What do you mean?”  _ Lance only justified everything he did because of Nyma’s response. It felt   true- there were few times that Nyma was completely and honestly serious. Maybe it was naive to believe that that was one of them. 

_ “Oh, Blue. Good people don’t wait around in the back of clubs for a cute, young thing like you to pull them away. People that are there to have fun? They’re the ones dancing and drinking. They don’t hide in the shadows waiting.” _

_ Lance gulped. “But you pulled me out of there. You mugged me- I wasn’t someone that was-” _

_ “No, you weren’t.” Nyma pinched one of cheeks in a child-like fashion. “But what you were was someone practically screaming ‘underage and dumb’.”  _

_ For a moment she seemed almost maternal, looking down at Lance like he was something that needed saving. He was an energetic student from a little beach town, and Altea was a metropolis. “If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else. And that’s why we do this, Lance- for people once like you.” _

_ “I don’t need saving.” Lance had hissed.  _

_ “I know. That’s why you’re with us now.” _

Lance startled. Nyma had tapped on his shoulder and Lance whipped around only to come face to face with a piece of yellow lingerie. 

“Thoughts? Opinions?” Nyma asked. “Comments?”

“It looks like you.” 

Nyma cheekily grinned. “Thought so.”

* * *

Pidge was listening for a click. A soft and delicate click that would mean the Balmera crystal was secure in it’s spot. She stabbed her finger on a piece of loose wire but kept absolutely quiet. 

Hunk supported his weight on his knees, leaning over the contraption that Pidge’s arm was in. They were waiting and the only sound came from the crystal as it slipped around the metal in Pidge’s tight fingers. A clink and a clack, but no click. 

It’d taken longer to make the machine than they anticipated. Their living room was consumed and their arms were coated in splotches of black grease. But it was all worth it once they got the crystals refined. The blueprints had been hell to follow; but a pleasant and challenging hell. Like accomplishing a 12,000 piece puzzle in a space the size of a minivan. 

Roughly a minivan. 

It was something that not only took them out of daily routine but offered a solid push in the search for Matt, as well as free energy for the apartment. Hunk was practically running on residual energy from just imagining all the food he’d make once they stopped throwing money away trying to rewrite all the apartment energy. 

All you needed to reduce electricity bills was two super geniuses, blueprints from a missing third genius, and a handful of dirty crystals. Simple enough. 

Now they just waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

“Pidge,” Hunk whispered, “I think something is wrong.”

A loud sniffle. Various clanging sounds as Pidge pulled her arm out and chucked the crystal across the room. It didn’t shatter upon impact and instead lit up the underside of the couch as it rolled. 

“Yeah,” She sniffed, head dropping, “No shit, Sherlock."

* * *

 

 

Keith was sweating bullets. His run had taken him fully out of the brick academy walls and all the way to the car. It’d been a dead sprint- Keith was just glad he knew the escape routes. 

He contemplated sending a text to Shiro to let him know he was out there, but didn’t want to take away investigation time. He’d hardly gotten any info himself; it was a disappointment he’d wallow in later. Now was not the right time. Instead he waited in silence and when a student curiously glanced in the car as they walked by, Keith reclined the seat all the way back. 

Honest to every God he could think of, Keith did not remember that guy. Nothing about him was particularly memorable or noteworthy and even a really hazy year ten kiss didn’t stick in Keith’s head. There were too many other things bouncing around in there that were far more important. 

Not that he particularly wanted any kissing or romantic memories, either. Kissing was unimportant and dumb. It was distracting and only served to distract him from what was really important. 

Hell, sexual orientation? Unneeded. It didn’t matter if he was gay when he had other things to focus on. He inherited a business and his parents were dead and Shiro was having PTSD flashbacks every day- so yeah. Both school and relationships? Low on his  _ important shit  _ scale. 

Shiro frequently told him that he was becoming too jaded, that despite everything he couldn’t just throw his life away. Keith had replied by getting himself expelled. 

Better to go out on his own terms rather than just flunk out. 

Granted, if he hadn’t been so focused, he’d have — his phone dinged. Keith’s train of thought derailed. 

_ Why are you in the car? _

Keith hesitantly pushed the seat adjustment button just enough to see out the window. Shiro stood on the other side of the parking lot next to the main school entrance. A man in a grey suit stood next to him- Keith’s former principal. 

_ Reasons.  _ Keith replied. 

There was a brief moment where Keith and Shiro locked eyes. Keith quickly pressed the seat down button and shrank from view. 

_ Did you assault a student?  _ Came the next message. 

_ He started it.  _

He didn’t need to see Shiro to know that the man was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

* * *

 

 

Occasionally she felt guilt. It was rare and heavy in her chest, like her lungs were filled with lead. Sometimes the guilt tasted like the motor oil Rolo fed into their trailer and other times it was the flowery perfume she wore around Lance. Two very different scents for two very different people. 

Nyma watched the glitter scattered across Lance’s shoulders catch the lights. Bright and beautiful neon colors that the  _ Galaxy  _ changed on a nightly basis. Tonight was a vivid purple. 

Lance looked like he was in the deep ocean. Nyma took a sip of her drink, stared out at Lance among a sea of people, then tipped the rest of the alcohol down her throat. She was the universe’s shittiest floatation device and Lance was seemingly (constantly) drowning. 

Whatever. He’d be fine. 

She had business to do. 

Her intended target stood at six foot three and was decked in clothes Nyma could only classify as  _ tacky mobster _ . You’d think that a press ridden heir like Lotor could afford clothing without a garish purple trim; maybe he paid extra to have it layered on. Maybe it was a chameleon tactic-- wear clothing so hideous that not even the paparazzi would look at you.    

To his credit it did help hide him in the private corner of the  _ Galaxy,  _ camouflaged under the neon lights and dimly lit walls. She’d been able to easily squeeze herself into his area without spilling a single drop of her drink, casually filling the open spot next to his booth like she belonged in his clique. As a whole they were far away enough from the music that yelling wasn’t necessary to hear each other, yet the corner was dead silent. Music blared and absolutely no one in Lotor’s corner made a single sound. 

The silence’s only accompaniment was the clicking of Nyma’s heels and the almost tangible line of Lotor’s glare.

He had a completely full drink next to him. Untouched, condensation pooling around the glass bottom. 

That was, in much later hindsight, probably the first warning sign.

If Lotor was curious at all about her presence he didn’t show it. Neither did the crew of undercover bodyguards that threw Nyma, at most, a side glance. At least, that’s what Nyma assumed they were; not many people showed up to clubs in full suits, less of all women. A squad of four very sharply dressed girls stood watch around Lotor— at least he was diverse in his guards. 

Nyma rolled her shoulders and lined herself up with his field of view. Whatever he was staring at was apparently much more interesting than her. Not even his bodyguards seemed to give a shit as she slunk her way into the private area, dipping under the single light source that was provided. 

“So,” She started, sliding into the same booth as him. She maintained her distance. “What’s so riveting out there that I can’t even get a glance?”

One of the bodyguards made a move towards her, but a sharp look from Lotor froze them. A pair of steely golden eyes glanced over Nyma and consumed her whole appearance in one swift movement. 

Lotor didn’t look pleased. 

“Who do you think you are?” He drawled, eyes narrowing into a harsh gaze. 

She shrugged. “A pretty girl.”

Lotor snorted. It was really more of a dry grunt sound. 

Out of the corner of her eye something shifted- one of the bodyguards had moved. Nyma couldn’t tell  _ how-  _ maybe they’d taken a step towards her or stretched their shoulders, but whatever it was, Nyma barely caught the tail end. She instinctively moved closer to Lotor. Compared to his guards, Lotor was a welcoming teddy bear of a person. 

He didn’t even acknowledge her and turned back towards the crowd. He looked at the like animals to be picked off; a predator stalking a prey animal. 

Her existence felt like a stroke of luck. 

Granted, if Lotor wasn’t watching one of the  _ younger  _ dancers in the crowd, Nyma still had no problem robbing him. There was a good chance Lance wouldn’t mind either. 

“Well that’s a little rude.” She played with a golden curl. “Do you talk to all girls that way?”

A poker face. 

Warning sign number two in hindsight. 

“Which girl out there are you watching?” She asked. “Maybe I know them.”

The cool liquid in her glass barely touched her lips when she added in a hushed tone: “Or maybe I own them.”

Lotor’s eyes flickered in her direction. Even in the dark she could see the reflective film behind them that made his whole eye rather cat-like. So, Lotor used body mods charms. 

That was interesting. She was currently using the same one to give the white of her eyes a purple tint. 

The alcohol in her mouth felt hot. 

There was another sly comment about to bubble out of her throat when Lotor leaned in against her. She almost didn’t swallow correctly and felt the hot burn run all the way up her throat. 

Lotor was unsettlingly feline-esque at close range; she wasn’t a fan. 

“You do, actually.” Lotor  _ purred _ . Nyma felt the pressure of his fingers against her jaw as he grabbed her, pulling her in close. He smelled like hot smoke and Nyma’s mouth was uncharacteristically dry. 

Her heart almost burst as he whipped her head to face the crowd. For a man with dainty gold rings and manicured nails, Lotor could probably easily snap her neck. Just sitting next to him felt powerful and made her woozy; having him lean in close enough to count his eyelashes made her feel drunk. 

Lotor was  _ pure  _ power. Nyma could afford anything she’d ever wanted if she could and Lance could pull this off.

Get it the  _ fuck _ together. 

“Do I?” She smirked.

She followed Lotor’s line of sight as he pointed one - _ clawed?-  _ hand out towards the dancers. Dozens of girls and boys alike dressed in bright, frivolous colors that radiated light. Glitter rained down off of what had to be a hundred different dancers and yet Lotor singled out one. 

One single boy that was dressed in shiny gold and was dancing with a girl decked out in a violent red. He was energetic and lively and a fucking billboard. 

Nyma’s lips curled. 

“You came in with him, right?” Lotor inquired. He turned so his whole body was facing her. “That boy out there dressed in gold. Tell me about him.” 

Nyma beamed. “His name is Blue.”

Lotor smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a picture of Nyma for this AU! Check it out on my art blog: http://icelandicdraws.tumblr.com/post/170468259587/icelandicdraws-i-colored-my-nyma-drawing-its


	4. Eye of the Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vomit in this chapter.

The time was three in the morning. Shiro stood shock still in the entrance to his brother’s bedroom, his nails digging into the soft wood of the doorframe. A chill racked his body and his lungs ached in the aftermath of another harrowing nightmare, everything still rehashing in his mind. An explosion, a slash, a harsh sting; Shiro felt his own shaky breath leave his body with a wheeze.

 

Keith was alive and safe in his bed. He was sprawled on top of his covers like he’d crash landed on them, still wearing his jeans and jacket. He was half curled in the comforter and stretched out like he was reaching for something that Shiro couldn’t see.

 

The room was broiling hot; Keith’s aura was finally getting a chance to breath after a stressful day. A soft, warm hue colored the whole room and even Keith seemed to struggle in it, his hair plastered to his forehead.

 

Overwhelmed, Shiro pulled away from the door. A snap of his fingers had the lights in Keith’s room flip off and another had the window creak open, allowing a flow of fresh air into the stuffy room. Keith seemed to visibly relax and curled up even more, tugging his blankets into a tight grip in his hands. Shiro just prayed Keith’s knife wasn’t somewhere in the folds of the bed as he shut the door.

 

Now completely alone, Shiro followed the string of hallway lights right up to the staircase landing. He took the each wooden stair one step at a time as he gradually woke up more and more. They creaked and crunched under him despite his best efforts to be silent.

 

Someone had left the kitchen stove light on. Folders and papers lay strewn about on the table and Shiro made the correlation between them and the sink full of dishes.

 

He sighed, cleared his throat, then pulled out a chair. It’d be better to spend the next few hours staring at the various records and notes rather than being holed up in his room just waiting for another nightmare. Keith had been in the middle of some ancient student report of Lance’s, little chunks highlighted here and there. One of the student photos had apparently gotten glitched in the system was printed off as just a question mark that lacked a physical portrait, the rest of the report coated in yellow highlighter streaks. It looked like jumbled gibberish to Shiro’s tired eyes.

 

Food. Food needed. Food needed _now._

 

The fridge was packed with enough chinese food to feed an army, courtesy of Allura, and Shiro squatted down to grab one of the white styrofoam containers.

 

It was a good morning (night?) for orange chicken straight from the box. Shiro reclaimed his seat and held the papers up, the taste of sugary orange filling his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance was vomiting everywhere. Something in him was trying its best to rip him inside out, catching on his lips and burning his entire body. It felt like Satan himself had shoved his entire arm down Lance’s throat, grabbed what he could, and yanked.

 

He didn’t even make it all into the toilet the first time. His own mess had puddled around the outside of the toilet bowl and someone did their best to keep Lance from tipping into it accidently. They kinda failed but Lance was a bit too distracted to care.

 

“It’s okay dude, you’re okay,” They reassured him, “Just get it all out.”

 

Lance didn’t think it’d ever _stop._ He was on the third, maybe fourth round of heaving. Some kind stranger ran a comforting hand in circles over his back and told him everything would be okay, and Lance could almost pretend it was one of his older sisters. Whoever it was had long hair that Lance swatted at, trying to keep the gorgeous curls out of his vomit futility.

 

This was not how he envisioned the night going. Nyma was out there somewhere having loads of fun while Lance huddled in a bathroom stall being held by a strange girl. It was, in a word, humiliating.

 

Absolutely humiliating. He wasn’t even drunk enough to feel like it wasn’t that bad. Hell, he wasn’t even _drunk._ He’d just become the sober, party foul clubber throwing up about two packets of partially digested ramen noodles while dressed in an outfit his mama would have a coronary at.

 

Cool.

 

Great.

 

Fan- _fucking-_ tastic.

 

Where the hell was Nyma?

 

His stomach churned again and Lance let out another heave, this time making it almost completely into the toilet. The hand on his back stopped for a moment.

 

“W-Water, _por favor,”_ Lance croaked. He heard someone other than the girl rubbing his back sprint away and fought every temptation to rest his head against the porcelain. His cheeks were swollen and he kept spitting-

 

The worst of it seemed to be over. Lance pulled his hand across his face and wiped off whatever remains he had onto his shirt. Gold was now tinted with disgusting orange chunks and his shirt looked like a toddler’s after eating. He definitely wouldn’t be getting the return on it.

 

_Shit._

 

The girl against him pressed a water bottle into his palm. She was also equipped with about a thousand paper towels, the rough brown kind that scratched Lance’s cheeks as she wiped his face down. He let her, his head lolling back into a noticeably petite hand as his face was dabbed at.

There was a series of slight cracking noises as the water bottle was opened and held up to Lance’s mouth.

 

“Spit out the first sip, it’ll help. I promise.”

 

Lance did as the girl told. Water ricocheted into the toilet bowl as Lance spit, repeating twice. He felt calmer and the burning in his mouth rescinded; although that probably had just as much to do with the water as it did with the radiant aura the girl had. The inside of the stall shone like it was underwater with the gorgeous arcs of color the girl was putting off and Lance no longer felt the harsh sting crawling up the inside of his chest. Maybe it was just a blessed combination.

 

He pushed himself upright and looked over. The girl looked worryingly back at him, the whites of her eyes dyed a light blue color. She had almost gill-esque slits over her cheekbones, peeking out from under cloud-like hair held back into pigtailed buns with a complicated system of barrettes.

 

Was that like, a trend now? Was Lance missing out by not having pigtails?

 

“I’m Plaxum.” She took a deep breath and Lance felt a menthol-like wave run down his throat. “This is just a simple-”

 

“Cooling charm.” Lance interrupted. “Yeah. Basic first aid charm.”

 

He groaned and just about hacked up a lung into Plaxum’s lap.

 

“You probably could have-”

 

“Avoided throwing up at all if I used a nausea charm?” He sniped. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need the patronizing.”

 

Plaxum let out a sharp huff. “I’m not the one throwing up, am I?”

 

Fair enough. Lance let out another harsh cough and felt a wave in his stomach-

 

“Take it easy! Here,” He felt Plaxum run her fingers into his hair and he leaned into her, closing his eyes. She was warm like hot steam from a shower and Lance was shaking, unable to support himself fully. “Lean on me. And don’t worry about the vomit.”

 

He wiped his face again. Apparently he’d drooled on himself recently.

 

As one rightly would be after throwing up, Lance shivered and let himself fall into Plaxum’s support. She propped up a leg to hold him better.

 

“Thank you.” He whispered into Plaxum’s shoulder. He could feel the grossness spreading from his clothes to her, but she didn’t seem to care.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Lance.” She wiped another towel over his skin. Something had trailed down Lance’s neck and he wasn’t sure what, but Plaxum took care of it. “Keep drinking your water. Is there someone out there we can call to come get you?”

 

Lance nodded slowly. He took a moment away from nursing the water bottle like a toddler and let his eyes close.

 

“Nyma.” He muttered. God, he felt tired. “Blonde pigtails, purple eyes- charmed like yours. She’s wearing baby blue.”

 

Plaxum shifted against him and he felt her nod, followed by the sound of someone walking away. She stayed with him and continued to run a gentle hand through his hair.

 

“Do I know you?” Lance questioned. He’d waited until they were the only people in the bathroom- vomiting was an excellent way of clearing people out of a room.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Lance turned to look at her. Definite gills and the closer he was, the stranger Plaxum looked. Her hair was nearly luminescent the way white clothing was under a blacklight. Somebody had apparently paid attention in charms class. There was no way was she naturally that… _blue_. Blue hair, violet clothes, blue eyes- little golden stars that were pinned into her hair in a swirl pattern.

 

She was the human personification of the deep sea in Lance’s blurry eyes.

 

“You called me Lance.” He swallowed and menthol taste coated his throat. “I usually just go by ‘Blue’ here.”

 

“Oh, right,” She dumped a handful of dirty paper towels into the toilet bowl and flushed it. “We were at the academy together.”

 

He blinked. Maybe he was a bit distracted by the fact that his body was seemingly self-destructing, but that was no excuse. He was a casanova through and through, even covered in his own vomit on a bathroom floor; Plaxum was gorgeous, how did he ever miss her at school?

 

“What? We were?”

 

Plaxum let out a small laugh. It was chirp-like and cute and Lance wanted to hear it forever. He flashed her a coy smirk and hoped that it was more charming than disgusting.

 

“How did I miss that?” He purred.

 

“I was two years beneath you,” She smiled, “You were my charms tutor.”

 

 _Oh my God._ Lance stopped smiling immediately.

 

The stall went from a bright blue to a sullen violet like a storm rolling in over a sunny beach, the whole area darkening. It was a combination of something like worry, leftover nausea, and pure _horror._ Lance’s stomach made a hard churn and for a moment he had the overwhelming urge to shoot back up and vomit again. Maybe he’d avoid Plaxum or maybe he’d just vomit directly onto her personally _-_ a nice little sign that she shouldn’t be anywhere near the _Galaxy,_ that maybe she should be a million miles away back in the academy dorms, it was a _school night,_ she was a _minor,_ Lance had _taught her-_

 

He covered his mouth before coughing this time.

 

“Blue? Blue!”

 

Nyma’s voice was echoing around the entirety of the bathroom. He could feel her presence by the way the mood shifted; Plaxum dropped Lance slightly, much less cuddling and much more like a stranger handing a toddler back to their mother. A very disobedient toddler who’d ruined the moment by vomiting all over itself and struggled when being handed off.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Nyma asked, hoisting Lance up to a weak stand. She’d plucked him right out of Plaxum’s arms like he was a piece of candy in a baby’s hand.

 

He could probably vomit on cue right now. Like, right now.

 

“Have you been in here the whole time?!”

 

Nyma and Plaxum were only alike in hairstyle choices it seemed. Nyma jerked him around like a rag doll, taking in all his weight against her hip. He felt woozy just from the movement. If he threw up on her, she’d probably kill him. He knew exactly how much these outfits cost and he’d already ruined one outfit, might as well go big or go home.

 

He’d be going home regardless so really it was just a matter of pettiness.

 

“Hey, be careful with him!”

 

Alas, nothing came up. Menthol settled in his stomach like a fog over water. Plaxum was hauling magical ass with the cooling charms like she was trying to cure Lance’s issues in a matter of moments.

 

Fat chance of that.

There was the particular feeling of being jerked right behind his naval, like he was the knot in a rope of tug-o-war. Nyma had her fingers digging into his hip and was proverbially winning the battle, looking Plaxum up and down like she was the scum Rolo scrapped off the bottom of their RV.

 

“Who in the hell- Oh my _God,_ what are you, like twelve?”

 

The whole room seemed to darken as Plaxum drew herself up to her full height. Despite the splotches of vomit and a crumpled handful of paper towels, Plaxum looked ferocious. She didn’t seem nearly as tall as she actually was when she was holding Lance, but she practically towered over the duo.

 

Some academy student she was- did they even have uniforms that fit people that tall?

 

“Wowza.” He commented. If he was the soft fall of raindrops, Plaxum was a tidal wave, and Nyma was a hissing cat.

 

“I’m the one that just made sure Lance didn’t choke on his own vomit while you were out partying,” Plaxum retorted, “You’re _welcome._ And be gentler, he hasn’t quite recovered yet, he needs more fluids-”

 

Was he passing out? Felt like it. He felt Nyma’s full bodied snort as he hung onto her.

 

“He needs a lot of things, kid,” Nyma interrupted, “A wannabe fish girl with googly eyes isn’t the answer to any of them.”

 

Music was still playing in the background. Lance could hear it thumping through the bathroom walls and penetrating the air all around them. On the other side of these walls was an entire crowd of people completely oblivious to the bathroom spat currently going on.

 

 _Must be nice_.

“Neither are _you._ He was never like this before you-”

 

Lance closed his eyes, which turned out to be a major mistake. The world spun completely horizontally and everything buffered around him. His eyes weren’t processing the world correctly.

 

Nyma was holding him now, bridal style, and Lance felt his skin break out into a cold sweat. Probably unrelated.

 

“Oh, turns out I don’t actually give a shit.” Nyma dismissed Plaxum entirely, adjusting Lance in her arms. “Ta-Ta for now, Ariel.”

 

If Plaxum responded in any way, Lance missed it. Nyma had turned them around and brought Lance’s head up to lean against her neck as she marched out of the bathroom, all five foot six of her. A path of club goers cleared for them; The queen was leaving and taking her shiny yet defunct knight with her.

 

Lance passed out somewhere between the lights going from a vibrant amethyst stretched over Nyma’s features to a cool teal peeking out over the side alley.

 

* * *

 

 

Plaxum waited exactly thirty seconds before following Lance and Nyma.

 

* * *

 

 

Coffee dropped down with a little rhythm. The soft thunk of each new drop as it hit the already pooled liquid was the beat and the steam hissing out the back of the pot was the melody. _Thunk, thunk, thunk._

 

This was the first pot of coffee of the day. The little clock embedded on the coffee pot blinked 6:23. The green numbers seemed to burn into her retinas; Classic, analog, and predictable. The perfect combonation of early morning non-bullshit and straightforwardness.

 

 _Thunk, thunk, thunk._  

 

Every muscle was tight. The pads of her fingernails were pressed white as she clutched the edge of the counter. Her teeth were grinding, her eyes completely dry as she stared down the coffee pot like it’d murdered her family.

 

_Thunk, thunk._

 

She was _too_ angry. Two hours of sleep and riled emotions fueled her sniper stare at the coffee. It was now 6:25 in the morning, and Pidge ignored the idea of caffeine dependence that popped into her mind.

 

Everything rode on her, and yet somehow it was just out of her grasp. She could practically taste the missing piece she needed to make the balmera crystals work, trying to force it out with coffee and electronic-strained eyes. Nails gritted against the counter.

 

 _Need_ pushed at her gut like a scream. She could probably scrape the enamel off the countertops right now if she wanted, break the old marble with her bare palms. Her blood was on fire and pumping- If figuring out how to purify Balmera was a snack in a vending machine, then it’d gotten caught on it’s way down.

 

Pidge was ready to shake the goddamned machine.

 

_Thunk._

 

“Pidge?” Tired and gravelly. “Don’t ruin the countertops.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Well good morning to you too, Princess.”

 

“Fuck _off.”_

 

“So you didn’t figure out your Balmera trick machine?” Lance inquired as he breezed past her, “That sucks.”

 

“I am not afraid to kill you in cold blood, McClain.”

 

A pause. The fridge shut and there was the sound of the tupperware container being pried open.

 

“Jesus, Pidge.”

 

Something in Pidge clicked right as the coffee machine beeped. A steady stream of liquid automatically released into Pidge’s waiting mug.

 

The first sip burnt her mouth, but it was like pure life force being poured into her.

 

“Sorry, Lance,” She cleared her throat. “I’m having a bad morning.”

 

“Yeah?” Another container popped open. “Join the club, pigeon.”

 

She let the mug rest against her lips, trying to absorb it’s caffine content through the hot wisps of steam it gave off.  When she turned around, a few splashes spilt out and ran down her chin.

 

Lance sat on the edge of the countertop, one foot supporting his weight on a bar stool. He had a mouthful of cold chili that Hunk had made the night before, eating it straight out of the container. His hair was wet and he noticeably swam in the oversized sweatshirt he’d stolen from Hunk as pajamas, the fabric bundling around his shoulders and hips.

 

Something about him seemed vastly more tired than normal, but Pidge chalked it up to the time. She’d seen a tired Lance fail many flight simulators before; He hardly seemed to be a morning person.

 

“Did you just take a shower?”

 

The older boy nodded around another mouthful of chili, using his spoon to gesture at her. His struggled to speak but did so anyways. “M’n touc-gh.”

 

Pidge squinted. Lance’s hard swallow was audible around the silent room.

 

“Come touch it,” He gasped, leaning in her direction, “I used this new charm.”

 

Pidge was hesitant, but cuddled her mug up against her shoulder and shuffled over to where he was perched. “Pretty fluffy. You gonna grow it out?”

 

A shrug. Pidge kept running her fingers through the brown locks, thin stripes of gold interlaced throughout in the barely dawning sun. “Matt always grew his out whenever school was out of session, but yours is a lot curlier.”

 

A beat.

 

“...This makes me uncomfortable.”

 

Both of them jumped, Lance’s hair being pulled in Pidge’s suddenly tight grip. Hunk stood at the end of the hallway, one leg of his pajama pants caught up around his knee.

 

“Is that my sweater?”

 

“Hunk! Come touch my hair!” Lance called. “Ow, Pidge, you’re pulling.”

 

“Yeah, oka- ooo _oooo_ , soft,” Hunk cooed, “New charm?”

 

Lance nodded and they fell into general chatter. Pidge sipped her coffee while Hunk replaced the chili in Lance’s hands with actual breakfast food.

 

The kitchen slowly turned into a much warmer scene, pancakes eventually sizzling on an old griddle Hunk whipped out.. Lance stole syrup right out of the bottle by squeezing droplets onto his finger while Hunk doled out ridiculous portion sizes over the kitchen table, stopping to have Lance squeeze a dollop of syrup into his mouth.

 

Herbal tea was made right alongside another pot of coffee and Pidge pet each individual catnip plant, the entire trio blissfully ignoring the balmera monstrosity in their living room. Collectively they needed it; A failure of a day and a night throwing up meant that, for once, they were all on the same early morning page.

 

No questions.

 

As far as they were all concerned it was an entirely new day as the sun slowly filled their kitchen. The three sat in comfortable quiet around the table as the catnip tried to reach them in vain.  

 

Hunk made no comment on the half empty jar of calming jam when he placed it on the table; it certainly hadn’t felt that empty yesterday evening. He glanced at Lance and got a beaming smile full of pancake in return.

 

“You’re up early,” Hunk commented as he sat down, “Wanna help us work on the balmera thing?”

 

“Nope! I’ll leave that to you two geniuses.” Lance shoved an entire pancake half in his mouth. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

 

“Why, didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night?”

 

Lance snorted pancake onto the table and Pidge laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance’s bed welcomed him with open arms, and he listened to the sounds of Hunk and Pidge down the hall before falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Two desks, a half-full box of protein bars, and someone’s still steaming late afternoon tea. Blinds, case folders, worn brown leather, and a bouquet of spring fresh daisies. Dozens of papers existing in every possible nook of the room and the soft smell of old books. Lance’s portrait tacked up on a corkboard.

A flash of Nyma’s sharp nails and a ruined shirt. A digital photo of Lance stumbling up a metal fire escape.

 

Plaxum’s throat hurt and her tights didn’t stop the skin of her legs from sticking to the leather loveseat. Dust particles floated through the air like whimsical little fairy orbs, unsettled and dancing in the afternoon sun. They swirled in the air around Shiro as he settled at one of the desks and pulled out a faded yellow legal pad. Even from a distance she could see the imprints from previous writings.

 

“I’m afraid our reasons are confidential,” Shiro‘s brows furrowed, “But any information about Lance would be of great use for us, Miss…”

 

“Plaxum. Plaxum Mer, I’m a tenth year at the academy. Lance was my old tutor.”

 

“I see.”

 

_Do you?_

 

There was quick scribbling on the notepad.

 

“So, Plaxum-“

 

“Lance is a good person.”

 

A huff, but not from Shiro.

 

The pen was set down as Shiro calmly crossed his arms. His pressed white button up crinkled at the movement and the jagged line where his arm attached to his prosthetic was glaringly obvious. He smiled at her reassuringly; Plaxum clenched her jaw.

 

“Plaxum, I know how difficult it must have been for you to come here. I understand that Lance was your friend and you probably have a lot of questions I can’t answer.” He relaxed his shoulders a bit and picked up the pen again. “I’m happy to listen to what you have to say.”

 

“Are you? Because the Lance I know wouldn’t do anything so wrong that it requires a police investigation. He’s a _good person_ , like risk his life to save a drowning puppy kind of good person.”

 

“I’m sure he is. I’m glad he had such a positive influence on you, Plaxum. We all need people like that. But right now isn’t about finding out what kind of person Lance is, it’s about finding out _where_ he is.”

 

Plaxum’s shoes squeaked as the rubber soles rubbed against each other. She watched as Shiro’s head dipped down in her peripheral vision.

 

“If you’re just here to defend your crush, don’t bother.” Shiro’s head shot up to look over Plaxum’s shoulder. “You’re wasting our time.”

 

She curled her toes and clenched her hands, screwing up her face as the voice got closer.

 

“You’re not the only one who likes him. Plenty of other students made that obvious.”

 

Keith stepped into her field of vision and placed himself against Shiro’s desk, leaning with an air of coolness only someone who didn’t know they were cool could portray.

 

“I know.” She took a steadying breath and shoved her feelings into the deep pool at the bottom of her gut. “That’s why I came here.”

 

The brothers shared a look and Plaxum pulled out her phone.

 

“I know who you two are,” A swipe of her finger unlocked the screen, “And I know what you investigate. My stepmom works with the Altean police a lot and occasionally your names come up whenever there’s an unexplainable magical occurrence. So when you guys showed up at school, I figured something bad was going down again.”

 

The words _Zarkon_ and _Panic_ never left her mouth, but Shiro ducked his head anyways.

 

“But then you mentioned Lance. And I know Lance. So he’s either in deep shit or he did something, and the Lance I know wouldn’t hurt a fly when it came down to it.”

 

Shiro was holding his pen like he was ready to take notes, but nothing came of it. Neither he or Keith moved a muscle as Plaxum flicked through her photos.

 

“Did anyone tell you about the _Galaxy?_ ”

 

Keith scowled and Shiro answered. “No, it never came up.”

 

“Didn’t think so. It’s this grungy club downtown that doesn’t card students- Everyone goes there.” She paused. “Don’t write that down.”

 

“We’re not here for that.” Shiro responded with rapt attention. “Please, go on.”

 

“I’ve seen Lance there a lot. He went during school occasionally but never as frequently as he does now. And, I…”

 

A photo of Nyma and Lance in the club glowed from her phone screen. Nyma’s soft profile highlighted under the streetlamps while Lance hung in her arms, soaking up the blue overhead lights.  

 

“I don’t really think it’s willingly.”

 

Plaxum handed off the phone to Shiro and Keith, who’d moved to better see the screen. The very dust around them stilled mid-flight.

 

“That woman’s name is Nyma if I remember correctly. Something happened to Lance last night that made him really sick and I was taking care of him in the bathroom, just making sure he was okay and everything. Then she showed up and just...dragged him away.”

 

Maybe she got dust in her throat, but Plaxum couldn’t push the words out. “ I’m sorry, could I have a glass of water?”

 

“Yeah, hang on.” Keith said. He handed her a chilled glass and she gulped it down like she was parched.

 

“Thanks.” She cleared her throat before she continued. “Anyways, Lance was completely different than I remembered. We haven’t really talked in a year but... it was like he didn’t even know who I was.”

 

“Drunk?” Shiro inquired. He passed the phone back to Plaxum.

 

“No, I would’ve been able to tell. He wasn’t under the influence at all I think. We spent a lot of my ninth year together working on basic healing charms and we have the same auras.” Opening her mouth and then promptly closing it, Plaxum couldn’t think of anything to add. “ I would have been able to tell.”

 

She downed the rest of the water.

 

“Nyma, huh?” Keith said, zooming in on the woman’s face. “What do you know about her?”

 

“Not much. She’s too old to be hanging around academy students, that’s for sure. We use the same beauty charms and mods. I think that whatever is happening to Lance...I think it’s her fault. Maybe her whole doing. She and Lance do this... _thing_ at the club. She’ll single out a guy, tell Lance to go flirt with them, and then they just disappear.”

 

A pained expression crossed Shiro’s face. An unseen message seemed to pass between the two men in front of her and Plaxum found herself being Keith’s center of attention instead.

 

“Any kind of specific person?”

 

Her curls bounced as she shook her head and she hurriedly scrolled to find the next photo. “Just men. Usually older, typically creepy. Generally skeevy guys, you know?”

 

Keith nodded and took the phone again from Plaxum.

 

“I trailed Nyma and Lance last night after they left.” She got an eyebrow raise in response. “ Lance passed out after getting sick and Nyma took him home, but I didn’t trust her with him. I took this photo at the building Nyma dropped him off at.”

 

“Scaling the fire escape?”

 

“He didn’t even bother to use the front door. He was like a human flashlight once he pulled himself up, lit up the whole alley.”

 

“Must’ve been desperate to get home.”

 

“I couldn’t risk getting any closer but I’ll email these photos to you. I really hope you guys can help Lance, I don’t think he’d do anything bad on purpose.”

 

Keith didn’t respond and instead handed her a card. “Our email is on here along with our number.”

 

Plaxum nodded, and Keith had to escort her to the front door, trying to keep eyes away from the darkening corners of the room. He didn’t even wait until she was off the front porch before shutting the door, locking it, and taking a deep breath.

 

Neither of them said anything. Shiro was giving off a vibe so harsh Keith was surprised the wallpaper didn’t curl and fall off in ringlets.

 

“How does,” It was a strained and strangled sounding voice, “An almost perfect student end up being pimped out of the _Galaxy?_ ”

 

“Why’d they steal balmera crystals?”

 

The vase of daisies shattered and Keith shoot around to look at Shiro. The man had curled himself up into a ball against the desk, his hand grabbing at his hair.

 

“This ends tonight, Keith.” Shiro said. It was final and solidifying. “We’re finding out what happened to Alejandro _tonight.”_

 

Keith still had a loose hold on the doorknob. “And if he vanishes on us?”

 

“Not an option. We’ll bring him in gently.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally lied to you, we had one more chapter to go before we actually get to The Good Stuff. And please remember the slow burn tag! There will be Klance, I promise you, we just gotta drag the boys around for a bit beforehand.
> 
> Also my apologies for this chapter being a few weeks late. I had midterms and life has been rough recently. I feel like this chapter reflects that and really isn’t my best work at all, but I feel bad not putting something out on time. So the writing is probably subpar and I’m sorry, I would have completely reworded it if I had the time/energy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading as always! I appreciate every comment left on my works :)


	5. Got Well Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence and blood

“So, let me understand this, you _don’t_ want a team of officers?”

 

Keith took a sip of his overpriced americano and let the taste linger in his mouth before responding. He watched a bin of dirty mugs rearrange themselves to make more room in the bin, the soft clinking adding to the mid-afternoon atmosphere.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” The line at the order counter inch by as the cafe hit their midday rush, “We go in alone.”

 

Keith remained silent as Allura’s name rang out from the counter. An overworked barista pushed out a flimsy red basket that had Allura on her feet in seconds.

 

_“Chicken salad for Allura, extra blue cheese!”_

 

Her shoes clicked as she crossed the floor. She greeted fellow diners as she passed them and Keith pushed back the wave of irritation that arose; for someone who insisted on a low key cafe instead of their house, Allura had made absolutely no effort to blend in.

 

Keith chose to instead focus on a particularly interesting succulent in the windowsill as Allura fiddled about grabbing silverware, running his fingertips over the prickled leaves. His plants always dried out and suffered deaths they didn’t deserve-- the urge to sneak the succulent into his pocket was only thwarted by the mental image of the cute plant dead within weeks.

 

Allura had to flatten her skirt down before she slid back into the booth.  “Keith, I can’t possibly get clearance for you and Shiro to go in alone.”

 

He languished in the pause as Allura stirred her salad, waiting until she had her mouth full before replying. “Good thing we work outside of official clearance.”  

 

She looked pained as she swallowed before actually chewing. “Keith-”

 

“Shiro suggested it,” He took a small sip of coffee, “I’m just following him.”

 

Allura allowed herself a moment to wipe her mouth off and straighten up. Her suit was impeccably wrinkle-free, perfectly pressed, and not a single hair was astray from the neat bun she had on her head. The only out of place thing about her was the harsh grimace she shoot at Keith.

 

He hid his smirk in his mug.

 

“I understand.” She said. “And Shiro believes this to be a good idea, why?”

 

His reply wasn’t immediate. Keith let his eyes trail over the other customers, spending his time observing each one while Allura waited. Her patience grew thin as Keith settled on watching a man at the front of the order line.

 

“Keith, answer me.”

 

Keith trailed his eyes over a man ordering at the counter. He was tall, lean, and a little too on the formal side to be a normal customer, what with his an unbroken leather jacket and pressed linen pants. Or maybe that was more objective- Allura was wearing clothing that cost roughly the same as Keith’s motorcycle had.

 

“ _Keith.”_

 

He set his mug down a little too hard, sending it’s thin contents swirling. “There’s kids there. He doesn’t want it to turn into a complete mess.”

 

“There’s children involved?”

 

Plaxum’s school girl outfit came to mind and Keith’s mouth turned bitter. “No, not- It’s just that there’s a risk that there’s some younger academy students there. Shiro wants to keep it… contained. Get in, get out. We already have our game plan.”

 

His lips went dry and he picked at them as Allura stirred her salad.

 

“Shiro thinks Lance could be in trouble.”

 

The lettuce crinkled as Allura stabbed through it. “Lance could be in trouble?”

 

Keith grunted as a reply. Another pause as Allura bit down and in an effort to stop the clear image of Lance bubbling into his mind, Keith looked around.

 

The man across the room had finished placing his order and now sat only three tables away; Not close enough for eavesdropping, but close enough that Keith spared a moment to stare at him, only to catch the man’s eye as he looked over.

 

He gave a little smile as he tucked his wallet into a jacket pocket. The edges of his eyes crinkled noticeably even from the distance and Keith’s jaw set-

 

Then a wink. The man winked, and Keith’s reaction was more physical than verbal.

 

“Keith? Is something the matter?”

 

Keith was acutely aware that he was practically baring his teeth. Unconsciously his hand hovered over his leg that he’d propped up on the seat, his knife concealed against the inside of his boot for easy reach.

 

“Older guy with tight pants and a shitty leather jacket, you know him?”

 

“Orange mustache?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“That would be Coran.”

 

Keith didn’t relax as the man adjusted his seat, kitty-corner to their own. He almost jolted when Allura cleared her throat and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

 

“Back to the subject, Keith. Pay Coran no attention. Is Lance in any danger?”

 

He turned back to Allura and almost stared her down. Coran must work for her- she was absolutely unmoved by his appearance. He felt like a strung up trigger ready to be released and shut his eyes tightly instead, nearly digging his thumbs into the bridge of his nose.

 

“No. Maybe.” Keith paused. “We don’t know.”

 

The image of Lance’s school portrait was just behind his eyelids, almost perfectly imprinted in the darkness. He could see the soft, honey drenched curls and richly tanned skin. Lance’s bright smile.

 

Keith imagined that same smile being flashed in a club for entirely the wrong reason.

 

He felt his own fingernails press into his gloves so hard they left half moon imprints. Remaining calm wasn’t his strong suit, and a simple movement had his hands wrapped around his coffee mug instead, the liquid inside heating up inordinately fast.

 

“What kind of danger? I’m not entirely comfortable with you two going in alone if Shiro thinks it could be dangerous.”

 

“Nothing we can't handle ourselves.”

 

“Keith, I need to know.”

 

The coffee still in the mug was dangerously close to boiling as Keith shut his eyes and pressed himself back against the booth. His fingerless gloves offered very little protection against the hot ceramic.

 

“Some former classmate of Lance’s came by. Told us where to find him and that might be in danger. I guess he does some sort of…” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, “Some sort of prostitution or something.”

 

He didn’t know Lance, didn’t even know _of_ him until only a week ago, yet something in him festered at the thought. He typically wasn’t one for the sob story cases-- that was always Shiro. But this felt different, seeing Lance’s potential squandered was different; Something Keith never had magic-wise, being wasted in a downtown club.

 

Prostitution was out of their league. It wasn’t their division. Yet-

 

The lining in his pocket made a noise as he accidentally ripped it, his hands balled up in anger.

 

Allura stilled. She took a breath much deeper than needed and cleared her throat. The salad went untouched.

 

“I...I understand,” She hesitated, “Are the others involved?”

 

Keith ran his thumb over the mug handle, offering a brief moment away from the intense heat. “No. The classmate didn’t mention them. She did bring up some other person though, a lady named Nyma?”

 

The woman across from him straightened and Keith could practically hear her back pop.

 

“I’ll look into it.”

 

“Allura-“

 

“I’m running late I suppose. I should be getting back to the office,” Allura announced, dismissing Keith’s statement before he could even begin. “Send me whatever notes you have about Nyma. And Keith?”

 

Furrowing his brow, Keith forced his eyes to meet Allura’s. The skin on his palms were hot to the point of numbness.

 

“I expect a detailed report of whatever happens tonight, and I want Lance in custody.”

 

He blinked. Allura ignored him as she stood and brushed off her skirt. The salad had a reasonable dent in it, but Allura didn’t bother to package up the remains, fixing the odds and ends of her outfit instead.

 

Coran stood as Allura did, but kept his distance. He waved at the two of them and the only thing keeping Keith firmly sat where he was was the hand that Allura ran over his shoulder.

 

“Stay safe.” She urged, leaning in next to him. “Please, Keith. The both of you.”

 

The mug in his hands had cooled, yet remained at a temperature a little too warm for human consumption.  He muttered some form of agreement to Allura that was a sufficient enough response that she left him with only a tight squeeze to the shoulder. He didn’t watch her or Coran exit, but heard the little _ding_ of the door as it shut.

 

He didn’t move until the heat in his hands calmed from scaliding to a barely warm hum. He drew Allura’s salad to him from across the table, the plastic basket scraping against the wooden table of its own accord until it sat right in front of him. She hadn’t bothered to take it- it was his now. He picked around the larger areas of blue dressing carefully as he brought out his tablet, powering it up.

 

With a mouth full of lettuce, Keith flipped through the folders. One labeled _LP3_ opened with a quick tap and Lance’s face looked up at him through various organized  sections. The ones with ridiculous names like “Winter Formal!” and “Zoo Trip :)” were clearly just copy and pasted versions of older folders created before Lance disappeared, while others had names such as “Lance Pilot Photos” and “Galaxy Club”.

 

It was almost frightening how many photos Plaxum had been able to provide on such short notice.  

 

He flipped through the older photos just to gauge what Lance used to be like, dully noting the absence of Pidge Gunderson. Many were selfies or group photos featuring Lance in either the school uniform or a cargo jacket. Something to note, but nothing that Keith could definitely use. He couldn’t confirm if Lance was the egomaniac the older students painted him to be or the living deity the younger ones insisted he was; Plaxum’s old photos weren’t so telling.

 

Lance certainly did have the blue eyes the students mentioned, but there wasn’t anything particularly drawing about them. He was, in the end, just another academy student who’d happened to commit one of the most impossible crimes in Altea.

 

Allura’s salad dressing was horrendous and Keith took a moment to spit out a bite of dressing soaked chicken.

 

He didn’t click on the “Galaxy Club” folder immediately. It stared up at him from the screen, just begging to be opened and Keith waited until there was a formidable sized knot in his stomach before he opened it.

 

It had photos of the same Lance as before, yet entirely different. Gone was the form fitting and hideous academy suit. It’d been replaced with cropped clothing that aged Lance far past student. Gone was the smiling boy who, only a few photos back, had hand fed a giraffe at the Altea zoo. Here was a boy who looked both endlessly tired and feverish. And _glittery._

 

Keith zoomed in on his face and took notes of his makeup, hairstyle, and clothes. Any recognizable thing that would be easy to pick out in a dark room.

 

He skipped over the pictures of Lance being hauled out of the bathroom. They didn’t seem like something he'd want to look at while eating. Instead he went back over the older photos of Lance and the student notes he’d taken before, compiling them with Shiro’s.

 

The salad was nearly gone once Keith had gone back over all of the accumulated notes, and Keith chucked what remained of the cheesy salad into the trash. It left him with an unfortunate aftertaste that lasted all the way home.

 

* * *

 

 

The entire inner lining of the jacket pocket had come undone at the cafe earlier and Keith stabbed his finger with the sharp needle as he tried to fix it. Dragging a salad basket across a table top was entirely different from maneuvering a needle into rough material, something Keith could barely manage with physical effort, let alone magical.

 

“Fuck this,” He said, stabbing the needle back into its pin cushion, “I’ll go without.”

 

“Giving up already? I’m a little disappointed in you.”

 

Keith startled as he turned to see Shiro in the doorway. The pin cushion was nearly crushed in his grip as Shiro pushed himself away, striding into the room quite like he owned it.

 

(He did.)

 

“Mom put more holes in that jacket than you ever have,” Shiro said, “Or ever will.”

 

The tomato pin cushion made no noise as Keith chucked it to Shiro, who reflexively caught it. He did the same with the jacket, plopping down into Keith’s desk chair and folding it over his lap. Within seconds he was doing more work on it than Keith had managed in half an hour, the needle slipping in and out of the lining like air.

 

“Allura called,” Shiro said to the quiet room, “She wants us to just focus on Lance, but bring Nyma in too if possible.”

 

“That’s about what she said at lunch.” Keith crossed his legs, waited, then uncrossed them. “Did she mention anything about her? Nyma?”

 

Shiro’s jaw popped loudly as he yawned. Keith had had the slight thought earlier to bring him back a coffee, only thwarted by the fact that his motorcycle didn’t have cup holders. “Nothing I can pass on. Just a few minor theft crimes, but they have nothing on her being involved with…”

 

The needles worked silently. Shiro never finished the sentence and it hung in the air around them like a thick fog that filled their lungs. This whole thing was _very_ of their usual. The crime, the vanishing charm, even the very notion of it all.

 

They should have turned down the case.

 

Swift work on Shiro’s behalf had Keith’s jacket back in his hands within minutes, the jacket lining snug up against the leather.

 

“I told Allura we’d leave in an hour, it’s about when the club is busiest. Bring your knife,” Shiro ruffled Keith’s affectionately, “Just in case.”

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Alejandro… awfully pretty name.” Nyma purred. She twirled a lock of golden hair and grinned like a devil._

 

_Lance thought his heart would beat right out of his chest. He was a kind of jittery, nervously excited. He tried to take a sip of his drink smoothly and nearly dribbled on himself, kicking one leg up against the wall in an effort to look cool._

 

_“The ladies just call me ‘Lance’,” He grinned, “Come here often?”_

 

Lance let his dazzling smile do the talking. Lotor was like putty right in his palms; his sweaty, nervous palms. This was _Lotor,_ the _infamous_ Lotor, and Lance was about to swindle him for all he was worth. Somewhere in the distance Nyma was preening- Her apprentice was going for the home run.

 

His mama had told him to never count his chickens before they hatch, but Lance had _plans,_ and, hell, he hadn’t seen any chickens in a long time. Lotor’s watch alone could pay their rent for a year easy; Never mind what the contents of his wallet could promise.

 

(New tech for Pidge.)

 

(New supplies for Hunk.)

 

(Something to fill the spiralling void in Lance’s chest that clawed its way up his throat.)

 

“Hey, it’s hot in here,” Lance twirled a piece of Lotor’s platinum hair between his fingers, echoing Nyma’s nervous tic, “Wanna step outside for a minute?”

 

Lotor was practically humming in his presence.

 

* * *

 

 

The song thumping through the solid walls of the _Galaxy_ was unrecognizable. It was engulfing and thunderous and Keith could feel the music not only in his ribcage but in his very _heart._ It was constrictive, almost painful how loud the noise reberverated in his chest- overwhelming in every sense had Keith been in the same room as it.

 

The door clicked shut behind him and he choked down a lump he wasn’t aware of. Something in his chest pulled as Shiro shouldered up next to him; the hallway wasn’t wide enough for them to walk side by side without accidently ripping various posters down. Most were, from Keith’s own guesses, past shows the club had hosted. Live events that’d come and gone, the memories left behind in the darkened back hallways. He recognized a few; Blown up album covers of bands he’d once listened to on a daily basis.

 

He’d have reminisced if he wasn’t busy checking every turn for a security guard.

 

A particularly long hallway branched off into two, one path leading down to a room that contained a mass of dancing people. The other lead into dimly lit corridors further in the back of the _Galaxy,_ twisting hallways like it was a fairytale castle. For a building that seemed relatively small on the outside, the _Galaxy_ had far more empty space than Keith anticipated.

 

He swallowed and nodded in quiet alliance as Shiro turned down the hall.

 

When the older man opened the door there was a flash of sound and light, like a whole other world had been opened for a brief moment of time. Then it was gone as quick as it appeared, with Shiro bleeding away into the dancing mass. He was beyond Keith’s sight and Keith’s fingernails bit into the rubber inlay of his knife handle.

 

He turned to the grim hallway and pressed forward. Each step he took was muffled by the pounding music and each one had a looming sense of dread. Something felt _wrong-_ wrong in the sense that the hair on the back of Keith’s neck were raised, and he actively had to keep his aura in check from lashing out. He flooded the hallway with an ominous red light that gave it much more of a horror vibe than he bargained for.

 

His metaphorical shackles were raised; something was off about the whole place. Keith had been in far worse places before and seen things that’d made his heart race- this was _different._ He wasn’t a person skilled in emotion charms or able to sense danger around corners like a third eye, but he’d barely turned the corner before his nails were almost firmly embedded in his knife handle.

 

The hall was cold and drafty, lacking in the same amount of posters as the previous halls. They’d clearly stopped caring about decor further back into the club; No one other than workers likely came back here. The bathrooms were long past and fire escapes were far away. It was maze-like, office doors more common than any band poster.

 

* * *

 

Lance had nowhere to go, cornered up against the alley wall in a truly unfortunate twist of events. He’d messed up somewhere- the hitch he’d been waiting for coming directly at him in ten fold. He’d been expecting something that, in hindsight, was dumb and would have been a true blessing. Something like Lotor not showing up to the club. Something like Lotor not liking his appearance or his flirting, something that turned the rich blond off before Lance even had a chance.

 

God how Lance longed for that hitch in the plans, literally anything other than what had just happened. He’d never been caught before- never right in the damn middle of the act. Lotor’s wallet had been halfway out of his pocket before Lance’s wrist was caught in a grip so tight it rivaled that of a misguided sibling’s.

 

Shit.

 

Ten seconds. A cruel snarl from the man Lance thought was wrapped around his finger.

 

_Shit._

 

Where was Nyma?

 

He felt Lotor’s fist before he even saw it. A swift jut to the jaw and the ground ripping against his temple. Something hit him again; fist or foot, Lance couldn’t tell. There was a radiating pain in his face followed by a twin pain in his chest.

 

Whatever Lotor said went unnoticed. There was ringing and a horrifying clicking noise for Lance to focus on instead, his eyes blurred. It was like they were buffering and unable to keep up with the man’s quick movements.

 

A laugh.

 

Lance grabbed whatever he could and yanked. There was a missed kick aimed at his face that instead scrapped his ear, a frenzied panic in both of their movements. Lotor had fallen and Lance jumped- something popped and he wasn’t sure if it was him.

 

A hand grabbed the front of his shirt and ripped it in thick shreds. Lotor’s other hand grabbed the back of Lance’s hair- Lance thought his heart might explode. Something like a hot rush of adrenaline ran through his whole body; Lotor could flip him. He’d be pinned. Right here, right now.  

 

Something in him boiled over.

 

He wasn’t gonna die in a fucking _alley._

 

Lance yelled hard and angry and _loud._ It was blood-curdling and Lance dug his nails into whatever part of skin he could reach- chest, neck, face. Lotor’s grip loosened as he covered his face and Lance elbowed him; He heard Lotor’s nose break. _Felt_ it.

 

There was a moment where Lance thought that he himself wasn’t moving, and then he was more than a meter away from Lotor. There was a moment where the terror of not being able to conjure his cloaking charm created a pit so deep in his stomach that he stumbled backwards- he ran anyways, unsure. It didn’t matter.

 

Down an opposite alley and in through a propped open door Lance went. Oddly out of place fluorescents hung above him and music thrummed in the not so far distance.

 

He could still feel the harsh and stinging lines where Lotor had grabbed him. Everything hurt, everything felt sore, felt _wet_ , he was sure he tasted blood- it was sour and sticky and he couldn’t tell if the main source was his mouth or his nose.

 

He shuffled as fast as he could. Lance was heavy and despite the adrenaline pumping through him, every muscle was sluggish.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith took a chance on one of the office doors and found it locked tight, the handle unyielding.  He tried another, again and again- nada. Nope.

 

The walls were more industrial the further he went and the offices more clinical like, generic and labeled as such. Offices that numerically didn’t make sense and were impossible to search or peer into, the fogged glass reflecting a muddy portrait of Keith’s own face. The music was almost a faint noise in the background; Keith could hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above him.

 

Was he even in the _Galaxy_ building anymore? There was a chance that the club extended out into a building that connected to the main club- shared office space, maybe? Relinquishing his grip, Keith turned point. There were probably dozens of connected buildings; places they certainly wouldn’t find Lance.

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

He’d wasted time searching completely unrelated places for Lance, balling his fists as he jogged back down a hallway. He’d somehow twisted himself into what was now obviously a connected office building to the _Galaxy,_ meaning Shiro had the only eyes out for the boy who could cloak.

 

The grey walls around Keith lit up in a fiery red as he sprinted back down them. His reflection mirrored in every office window and door, the white lights above leading his way back to the club. Music slowly became louder and more recognizable but it was nowhere near the level it’d been when they’d first walked in.

 

Someone in the distance shouted and Keith filed it away in his mind, keeping up his jog instead. He’d just rounded the corner and judging by the music, was only a few halls off from the main club area. The halls ran parallel to each other and Keith passed what felt like the millionth set of fire doors, the cold bite of the outside coming in through the drafty sets. They made decent markers- the closer he got to the club the louder the music was, and the more fire escapes there were.

 

There was another pair up ahead and Keith was just barely upon them before they swung open, the glowing red signs highlighting a figure that pushed their way in. The fluorescents above threw them into harsh lighting and Keith almost pushed right past them, pulling his knife out on instinct.

 

He was going to say something, offer a quick notion of help to the stranger before he went on his way back to the _Galaxy_. But under the dim lights he got a good look at them and stopped dead in his jog. Blood splattered up the side of their face and down the side of their club outfit. Strips of cloth hung from their shoulders where a shirt hung by a few desperate threads- and even those had a harsh layer of blood over them.

 

Their aura was overpowered by Keith’s almost immediately, dimmed from the obvious exertion they displayed, panting wildly as they each froze like a deer in headlights. Somewhere in the distance the music banged on, but time stilled in the hallway.

 

It was an achingly reddish purple in the hall and Keith recognized Lance immediately- It was almost a miracle that he did.

It was like running into a boxed feral animal. Lance had his hands balled into tight fists and was huffing like he’d been sprinting the mile, his bangs wild over his forehead. He was fully flight-or-fight; Keith wasn’t sure he himself could move.

 

“Lance?”

 

Despite the blood that covered his face and the obvious injuries, that was _Lance._ And Keith saw up close as Lance’s eyes went from meeting his own to darting down to the knife he was firmly gripping, widening as the light glinted off the blade.

 

For someone heavily injured, Lance wasted no time before sprinting down the hall, leaving a momentarily dazed Keith behind.

 

“Lance!” Keith shouted, taking off right after Lance, “Stop!”

 

Keith booked it through the same door Lance went through, following the sprinting boy through a generic office door that didn’t have an entire room of dancing people behind it. It was bland and dark and smelled the way that their office at home did whenever Allura insisted it be cleaned- like a floral air freshener that someone had dragged out of a long-forgotten closet.

 

“Lance, I just want to talk.” Keith calmly announced as he entered, a bit hypocritically as he gripped his knife. He let his aura slip out from it’s tight hold and the room glowed a radiating red, the grey bland room inside lit up.

 

His aura highlighted all of Lance’s features when Keith spotted him- slumped onto the ground in a pile, out cold, his own aura gone. Keith instinctively kept his distance, slowly edging in towards Lance with his knife drawn.

 

That was _definitely_ Lance. He was certain of it before, but this was the confirmation. Keith dropped to his knee when he neared the unconscious boy, leaning in to see his injury better, the harsh red even bolder in his light. This was Lance McClain, and someone had taken a chunk out of his face.

 

Keith was so engrossed that he almost missed the soft clacking of shoes behind him, turning ever so slightly towards the noise just a second too soon.

 

A woman’s voice cut over the vaguely thumping music. “Drop your knife. Drop it now.”

 

Keith turned fully towards her. He kept one hand hovered over Lance’s shoulder.

 

“Now!” She barked, “Drop it!”

 

He felt something just out of his peripheral- something blunt and vaguely weapon like.

He gently set his knife down on the concrete floor and used his foot to kick it away from Lance’s reach just in case; the woman kept her melee weapon aimed unwaveringly at Keith’s face. It glinted in their auras, a vibrant orange that shone off the sleek metal of the pipe she brandished.

Keith took a mental tally; It’d take him only seconds to grab his knife if needed. The woman was dressed in a slinky silver dress that caught as much light as the pipe she held- a weapon that could easily deal a hefty bit of damage to someone’s face, yet distinctly lacking in blood splatters.

 

She spoke calmly, like someone who knew they had the upper hand, yet Keith could almost _feel_ the jittery feeling coming from her. The feeling was shaky and nervous and unpredictable- Keith took a step back from Lance.

 

She took a small step back in response, framing herself in the doorway, and Keith got a good look at her sharp features. It was Nyma- not radically different than in Plaxum’s photos. “What did you do to him?”

 

“What?”

 

“What did you do to him?” She demanded, “Why is he bleeding?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?”

 

Nyma paused. At a loss for words she squinted at him, opening her mouth and shutting it again. “You’re-”

 

She stopped mid word and her pigtails bounced as she flipped her head towards the hallway, startled by something Keith couldn’t see.

 

_“Shit-”_ She gasped, withdrawing further out of the office and into the wall. Keith could hear the faint sounds of someone’s footsteps- Someone was sprinting in their direction.

 

Panic set in as Nyma flipped between looking down the hall and back to Lance, shakily moving away from them. Her teeth were gritted as she struggled to choose somewhere to look, finally settling on Keith.

 

“Tell him,” She started, dropping the pipe before Keith could react. “Tell him sorry for me.”

 

The metal was still ringing from the fall by the time Nyma was gone.

 

Shiro took her place only moments later, the footsteps stopping with him as he filled the office doorway. He was panting as he stopped, throwing a harsh look in at Keith.

 

“She’s in the club- there’s too many people in there, Keith. It’d be impossible to find her, it’s absolutely packed.”

 

Keith’s brain was processing and the harsh scent of blood wafting up from the floor.

 

“Leave her, Shiro,” He replied, dropping back down like he had before and placing a hand onto Lance’s shoulder, “We need to get Lance to a hospital.”    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya. This is a few months late. It was difficult to write because not only are action-y scenes not my forte, but I've been struggling a lot mental health wise. It's been a rough 2018 so far.
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy and have a wonderful weekend!


	6. Crosses

Keith yawned into his unlidded cup of coffee. His jacket made a familiar crinkle noise as he adjusted his stance away. The window into the private room was chilled against his shoulder blades; Behind the thin panel of metal crossed glass lay Lance, a stretch of soft brown against the standard white of the room. It was a sight that Keith had stared at for far too long, and one that stayed imprinted on his eyelids in the form of green shadows. 

 

He felt tired and energetic all at once. His body was catching up with the night’s events; running down empty hallways and carrying Lance out to the car as Shiro stopped his bleeding. His muscles longed to rest and relax while his mind ran wild with thoughts. Unconsciously he was tuned into everything around him: the distant beep of a monitor, the once wet and now dried parts of his clothes, and the soft ache in his belly. Everything around him was an orchestra that Keith barely registered. 

 

The cold and clinical white of the hospital engulfed him. The only blessed break from the visual monotony of white was the pale green that popped out all over; lines that ran along the linoleum floor in gentle curves. If he chose to follow them he’d end up back in the main wing, only a short distance away from the ward where he’d originally gotten his shitty coffee.

 

Keith stayed where he was and lingered in the quiet. He took a sip and tried to fight yet another yawn that pried it’s way up his throat. Hours ago he’d had someone threaten to bludgeon him with a metal pipe and Lance’s blood had smeared along the edges of his jacket- now he downed the rest of the coffee in a spare scrub top that a nurse had passed on. Any second spent looking somewhere that let his mind linger was another second that Keith remembered the way Lance looked at him- anything was better than that. 

 

A nurse hurriedly made her way down the hall, her pink scrubs a pleasant pop of color away from the eggshell. She had curly brown hair that bounced all over her shoulders as she paced past Keith, breezing in through the door to Lance’s room. A little clear bag dangled from her fingertips as she switched it out with an identical, yet empty, version that hung around Lance’s bed. 

 

The pillows around Lance’s head refluffed themselves and his blankets straightened out on their own accord, the nurse’s hands preoccupied with the baggies. Lance made no response; he was out cold and completely oblivious. Hopefully the new fluid baggie would help with the dark circles under his eyes that formed in his sleep. 

 

She offered Keith a small wave that he barely got to return before the curtain was pulled over the viewing window, shutting off Keith’s watch over the unconscious boy. 

 

All that was left of his coffee was grit. 

* * *

 

Was this cup three or four? Keith downed the hot liquid like it was a shot of hard liquor instead of keeping track. It coated his throat and burned a hot trail through him, falling into the empty space that was his stomach. Allura’s salad had been his only food earlier despite much offering- he and Shiro were supposed to get take out once Lance was in custody. 

 

Fat chance of that now.

 

“There’s really not much we can do for him right now besides wait. His injuries have been checked and there’s nothing to stop his magic rehabilitating on it’s own. It’s just a matter of time now.” 

 

A chill ran up his spine at Allura’s words. It was impossible to tell if the chill was his own or some residual energy that rebounded onto him from Shiro, but it made him pull his jacket tighter regardless. Memories of childhood hospital trips lingered in the back of his mind and he was sure they rattled around in Shiro’s head- visits where Keith was covered in scrapes and bruises from school fights. That one time he’d fallen off his bike and gotten gravel in his knee, similar to the trip only five years later when Keith had fallen off his motorcycle.

 

(That one required stitches.)

 

The entire building was one big memory. The earlier ones were just one big foggy mess that could be sorted through at another time. A time where Keith didn’t feel eyes lingering at his shaky hands.

 

“Are you sure there’s nothing we should do?” Shiro responded, “Stay here and keep watch in case he wakes up?” 

 

He remembered how Nyma’s hands had shook as she aimed at his head, and Keith still had the feeling that something was right outside of his vision. If he turned she’d be there- she wasn’t, but no one in the room cared to notice Keith’s twisting. Or, if they did, they ignored it.

 

“Honestly, no. You two got a lot taken out of you earlier and it’d be much more of a help to have you both well rested in the morning.” Allura answered, and Keith heard her heels against the floor as she stood. “Coran has already agreed  to keep watch over Lance tonight. He’ll contact us immediately if Lance wakes.” 

 

_ What had Lance been running from that drained him so fast?  _

 

“And what are the chances of that happening?”

 

The room didn’t get a response and Shiro’s heavy sigh was enough of a confirmation on it’s own.

 

Keith cleared his throat and swallowed the bits of coffee that’d hung on in his mouth. “But Lance- is there even an estimate?”

 

“I wish I could answer that, Keith, but the doctors genuinely don’t know.”

 

Allura looked a defeated under the sterile lighting. She pinched her nose bridge hard and drew in a pointedly long breath that made Keith try to drink coffee that wasn’t there. “Yes, there’s a chance Lance might rehab quickly due to his magic, however, there’s an equally strong chance that  _ because  _ he’s got strong magic, it’ll take longer for him to come around.” 

 

Lance had collapsed onto cement flooring hard enough to guarantee at least surface bruising. Hell, he’d  _ bounced.  _ And the injuries that he’d gotten before that? Waking up in an unfamiliar locked room probably wouldn’t be the best.

 

Keith bit the rim of his styrofoam cup. His teeth left little indents. 

 

Shiro interjected before Keith could respond. “Magical exhaustion is a case-by-case issue. There is no estimate and there’s magical jump start that’ll get him up and running. It looks like we’re waiting.”

 

His teeth dug painfully into his tongue as he bit his words back, trading out his cup for his mouth. The chill up his spine a moment ago was definitely  _ not  _ caused by himself. 

 

Shiro wanted to go home and Keith could feel it despite the absence of black curling in the corners of the room. It was in the way he felt heavy and almost unfocused- Shiro was giving off enough energy to make Keith want to sit down and let out a heavy yawn. 

 

He didn’t. 

 

“What’s important now is finding his companions,” Shiro went on, “and whoever did this to him.”

 

“I’ve already got a team out searching the club.”

 

Actually, waking up in a hospital room like that must be fucking  _ terrifying.  _ Lance had burned his way through his entire magical reservoir- Keith had had a patch of his blood worked into the front of his shirt. It stained the lining of his jacket and it’s harsh scent lingered. Every breath was another intake of blood.

 

“And Coran is on his way?” 

 

“Yes. He promised to alert me as soon as-“

 

The styrofoam cup bent under his fingers. His nails pierced the empty container. 

 

_ “Keith, she can’t wake up here alone, okay? You can go home if you want.” _

 

“I want to stay. I’ll watch after Lance.”

 

The cold feeling raced down his back, pulling down against his spine and settling in around his feet. Shiro looked at Keith with a gaze the younger one could only describe as  _ tired.  _ Endlessly tired; the kind that couldn’t be fixed with coffee and sleep. 

 

“Keith, I-“

 

“Shiro,” The cold feeling felt like ice water running over his legs, “Shiro, he can’t wake up here alone.”

 

Shiro stared at him; through him. Past him. A million miles past him and an entire decade ran by in Shiro’s eyes before he scrunched up his nose and pinched his fingers against the bridge.

 

“Fine, fine- alright.” He sighed. “Keith you stay here. Allura, tell Coran that he can go home.”

 

Allura turned from brother to brother, her eyes narrowing. She was just as tired as them and had the look of someone who desperately needed sleep, yet had the drive to stay awake until a resolution was found. “I’m not sure I follow. Keith?”

 

“I’ll stay here with Lance for the night. Or, uh,” He swallowed hard, “Until he wakes up.”

 

“Are you sure?” Whatever beauty charms she had on were slowly meeting their end. Her hair was frazzled out of it’s tight bun and her clothes had lost their bright and lustery shine they’d had earlier. 

 

Keith took it as more of a thank you than an actual confirmation.

 

“Yeah. You guys go get some rest.” 

 

Allura nodded.

 

“Separately, I mean.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro’s aura wasn’t originally black. Before it all Shiro’s aura had been a deep admiral blue; a  darkening sky after sunset, or a deep ocean pit. It was calming and sensible in the same way that Shiro had always been; rational, calm, and intelligent where Keith lacked. Keith never met Shiro’s mother but there was no doubt that he got his aura color from her- it was so astonishingly different than their Father’s. 

 

Their father had had the hearty yet bright red aura Keith had, heat included. Their childhood homes had always ran hot thanks to him and Keith filling it with warmth, and inadvertently lead to a lifetime habit of sleeping with open windows. It became stifling and sweltering without the equal balance, and there was only so much the aura of a still growing Shiro and Keith’s yellow toned mother could do. 

 

Red was hot, fiery, and passionate. Blue was strong and charismatic, yet somehow cold deep inside. 

 

Shiro’s and Keith’s auras were supposed to be balancing. Siblings usually had complimentary auras to keep their environment in balance; now Keith had to keep himself in check and witness as Shiro’s turned. 

 

It  _ turned.  _

 

The blue wisps had changed from blue to a black; the kind that seeped in the corners and slowly made their home a dark, dank place. The humid air changed from something like a early morning fog to instead a shadowy set of tendrils that creeped in the corners. They’d rise when Shiro was vulnerable or hurt or suffering in any way- the once calm lake was now dark vines and nightmares that woke Shiro up at all hours. Gone was the familiar blue glow that Keith grew up with, replaced with black vines that Shiro hid. 

 

But that’s what  _ turning  _ does. Saps your aura, your emotions, your magic- it takes until there’s nothing left except the black mist rising in the corners of the room. 

 

Any aura of any color is susceptible to it; it takes until your aura is gone and your magic has evaporated and you’re left with nothing but the memory of what it once was. Unable to cast spells or conjure light or do what you once could, and just being left with the occasional burst of uncontrollable magic and darkness. 

 

The same darkness, Keith noted, that rimmed the edges of Lance’s aura light. The blue glow he emitted barely showed as he slept and Keith saw it in the thin corners, blending in seamlessly with the natural shadows. 

 

A traumatic experience could  _ turn  _ you in an instant. But it could also take its sweet time in eating away at a person's aura, slowly pulling them from their magic no matter how strong it is. Like quicksand or tar, or any other horrible wild thing that Keith had grown up thinking would be a major obstacle in his life.

 

He stretched his legs out. Lance had taken a deeper breath than he typically did in the past few hours Keith had sat by his side. So far Keith had done a lot of listening to Lance’s breathing.

 

In his defense, there wasn’t much else to do. 

 

Every once in a while a nurse would pop in and press a button or two, or swap out some clear liquid with another clear liquid. They’d say hello if Keith didn’t fein sleeping well enough, but more often than not he’d just lean his head back and pretend well enough. They’d make a comment and scribbled something down on a clipboard at the foot of Lance’s bed, which Keith made a mental note to glance at when it was lighter out. 

 

Other than that it was painfully boring. There was a lot of staring at Lance’s face and listening to him breath, then getting worried that that was possibly creepy, then giving into it anyways. It reminded Keith of something far off away in the past, where he’d sat by another hospital bed and listened. 

 

Lance didn’t really sound much like his mother did, nor did his aura have the same glow. Yellow was different than blue; Cheerier and loving, but somehow not as comforting. 

 

Maybe it was just the whole situation and environment. Keith chose not to think about it for to long.

 

Another nurse popped in only a few hours after Keith had come in, and Keith didn’t reopen his eyes after they left the room. In the soft beeping of a monitor as Lance snored, Keith fell asleep, arms crossed and head lulled in Lance’s direction. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk sat with Pidge on the couch and the younger girl had fallen asleep already. Well, actually, a quick utterance of  _ Snug as a bug in a rug  _ had Pidge out- Hunk wasn’t quite sure if it was possible for her to fall asleep naturally anymore. 

 

Enough awake charms and caffeine will keep you up for days, and the only thing stronger than that combo was Pidges drive to find Matt. He’d heard her mutter enough wake-up charms that she’d probably invented a few new ones by now. It was impossible for there to be that many common phrases about waking up for her to be constantly going like she was- and she only spoke one language, so she was limited to just English.

 

As far as Hunk knew. There was a chance Pidge secretly spoke some other, possibly forgotten language that she just never told them about. He’d known Lance for a year before finding out that he spoke Spanish or that it was even his first language. 

 

But still. There were only so many phrases one could use. Charms were made up from the power of common phrases;  _ Early bird gets the worm  _ was one of the phrases that Pidge would mutter under her breath as she got her morning coffee. It’d waken her up enough to get her needed caffeine after like, an hour of sleep.  _ As cute as a button  _ was one he often over heard from Lance in the mornings as well, a simple charm that’d fix the loose ends of his outfits. Switching out  _ button  _ with  _ cucumber  _ would refresh his looks and make it look like he’d just taken one of those long spa days he loved. 

 

Lance must be out having a good night. He was usually back by now, and Hunk was getting pretty close to missing him coming home if he didn’t make it back soon. 

 

It’d been another unsuccesful day with the balmera crystals. Hunk had already made plans to swipe one and experiment on it in the kitchen tomorrow- hence the sleeping charm on Pidge. She’d lose it if she knew he’d taken it to do an all day  _ Fool’s gold  _ charm would either confirm of deny his suspicions. 

 

He didn’t doubt Lance for a moment that he’d gotten the crystals under the pretense that they were real. They looked real, reacted real, and honest to god, Hunk thought they were real. Only they should’ve gotten them working by now- two engineering geniuses using blueprints created by another engineering genius should have been able to get them working by now. The fact that hadn’t?

 

Either something was wrong with them, or they’d wasted time on a useless endeavor. 

 

Hunk’s gut told him it was the second one.

 

It felt  _ shitty.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Wedging off her heels, Allura placed them neatly in their cubby alongside an identical pair. They were charmed to self-clean to restore themselves to the almost luminescent white that they were originally, and she turned her back on them to face the other hallway occupant.

 

Coran was picking at the dust that’d gathered around the portrait opposite of the shoe closet- one of Allura’s mother and her as a child that he himself had taken. 

 

Neither of them had ever had the heart to remove it from its original cramped spot where it hung, right across from the shoes and tucked neatly next to the coat rack. Her father had left there because he wanted to see his wife and daughter’s smiles everyday before work, despite leaving before they woke each morning. Her mother’s smile met her every day after she came home and every morning after she left.

 

It was almost a horrible reminder of why she did what she did for a living- inheriting her father’s position as head of the Altean police force for a living. 

 

Coran sniffed and it broke Allura from her brief trance. Her work case hung limply from her fingers before she handed it off to him, per their usual nightly routine.

 

“Coran, I need you to do me a favor.” 

 

“This place really could use a better dusting, couldn’t it?” 

 

“Coran,  _ please _ .” 

 

She was tired, so very tired, and a slight squeeze to Coran’s shoulder was enough to convey that she hadn’t meant to come across as exasperated with him. 

 

“Could you make a note to have the hard copies of the Altean Academy folders delivered to the office in the morning? From Keith’s year to the three years proceeding.”

 

“Of course, Allura.” 

 

“Thank you, Coran, it’s very much appreciated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing is so jumpy oh man, my bad


	7. Hey now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again weird spacing. Apologies.

The stovetop potion bubbled and released a sharp hiss that accompanied it turning a dark, grotesque green color; it looked like mashed spinach that’d taken an honest turn for the worst. It shied away when prodded at and stirring it became such a difficult task that Hunk used two hands to push the spoon around, bracing his hands like he was trying to paddle a boat. 

 

(The spoon was a metal one he’d grabbed out of the back of the drawer- he’d sooner drink the potion than sacrifice one of his wooden spoons to it.)

 

He recoiled at the smell and fought the urge to take a step back. If he stopped stirring now, the whole thing would solidify into a mixture that’d surely never come off his stock pot without some tragic bits sticking to the bottom. The mixture flecked it’s way up the sides of the stainless steel whenever it popped, and Hunk dug his face against his shoulder in an effort to avoid the smell. 

 

It was, overall, a trying experience. 

 

Thank god Pidge was asleep using a spell instead of just the natural way- the smell could and probably  _ would _ wake the dead. A wave of Hunk’s hand had the windows unlatching and opening, and the vines outside spreading apart to let in some fresh air. 

 

Even the catnip tried its best to escape, trying desperately to stretch out the window to no avail. 

 

Hunk gagged. The potion popped.  

 

An old metal tin ungracefully floated its way down from above the fridge, landing with a harsh scrape against the countertop. It’s lid juttered off, hitting the sink as Hunk rushed to pour the potion into it, struggling to stir as the potion tilted out of the pot. It took its time pouring, developing into a thick paste that Hunk narrowly avoided getting on the counter. 

 

Once it was in the little tin and the pot was filling with water in the sink, Hunk pulled one of the balmera crystals out from his pocket. He pushed it down into the potion until it’s dull luster was completely submerged and the lid was placed back on, containing the foul smell in its little tin prison. 

 

Lordy. 

 

The sides of the tin dented slightly under his fingertips as he pressed in, grasping the shiny prison as tightly as possible. 

 

“ _ Not all that glitters is gold.” _

 

Sunlight peeked into the kitchen through the mass of vines as Hunk set a timer. Twelve hours is all the time it’d take before he’d open the tin again, and would with be greeted with the final result. It’d either be the foul smelling and practically rock solid green slop that it was when he was creating it, meaning that the balmera crystal was indeed fake, or it’d be a gelatinous gold color. According to the recipe and charm he used, the gold gelatin would be easy to part and would allow for him to simply fish the crystal out and rinse it off. 

 

Easy-Peasy. He made a note to thank Shay for the recipe when he saw her again. 

 

* * *

 

**From: Plaxum Mer <** **PMer@AAcademy.edu** **> **

**To: keith k**

 

**Found these last night on an old flash drive that I once shared with Lance. I accidentally stole it a few months back. Doubt they’ll help your investigation, but let me know.**

 

**Hope everything is going okay.**

 

**Plaxum Mer**

 

A young, tan boy wiped a yellow substance off of the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. He was holding a peeled mango like it was an apple, and with obvious bitemarks the boy smirked at the camera like he was in on something the photographer didn’t know. He was mischievous and almost elf-like, with the same spallatering of freckles right across his bridge that he had now, Dulles over time and lack of sun. 

 

Lance wasn’t all that much younger in the photo. Maybe it was right before the academy? Vacation? Keith stared at the photo through sleep-hazed eyes as his eyelashes clung to the last bit of sleep he had in him. He was curled up in his hospital chair, huddled under a scratchy grey blanket as the morning sun came in through the curtain gaps; the room was freezing and he lazily scrolled through the email. 

 

Another photo, this time with a girl. Curly pigtails bobbed right behind her ears, one smooshed up against Lance’s cheek as they pressed together. Both were beaming and Lance had a tight arm around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her up against his torso. She was younger and still had the oversized and toothy smile that children typically had, but she lacked the insane amount of freckles that Lance had. 

 

Was she his sister? Friend? Cousin? There was a distinct similarity between them that Keith couldn’t place, but his bet was placed on sister. 

 

Maybe it was something about their noses and the way their cheekbones lent to slightly upturned eyes. 

 

They each had the fruit juice on their faces and Lance had hair plastered down against his forehead and cheeks, wet from the ocean behind them. He was flashing a peace sign and the whole scene was so bright and cheery that Keith had to adjust the brightness on his phone down several notches. 

 

In all, it was a very different scene that the one he’d woken (and fallen asleep) to. Lance had barely moved overnight and he had taken on a dreadfully pale skin tone, his aura still so faint that Keith had to squint.

 

The morning sun probably didn’t help. Keith pulled his blanket up to his chin. 

 

There were more photos, but Keith opted to turn his screen off and shuffle about for a moment, readjusting so he was covered as much as possible. He let his aura wash over him, heating his sides with the same warm flush he’d dealt with his entire life, and snuggled deeper into his chair. 

 

He’d missed a call from Shiro only twenty minutes before he’d woken up. The voicemail icon blinked at him as he ignored it. His eyes wouldn’t stay shut unlike his heavy body, still weighed down by an uncomfortable sleep. 

 

Lance’s hands were slightly curled by his side. Soft indentations where they met the fabric of the blankets on him, and Keith could see the beginning chipping of the orange nail polish he wore. Even his hands looked pale in the clinical overhead lights. 

 

There was a big, blossoming bruise crawling up Lance’s temple, laced up with the clear bandaging the hospital had applied. His lip had healed from its split the previous night and the swelling had released, leaving only a red line in its wake. That was the only noticeable sign of improvement Keith could take note of. 

 

He wondered if the part running along his temple would leave a scar- and would it be one that Keith himself could have prevented? Did he have that before or after Keith had seen him in the hallway? 

 

Lance took a steady breath and held it for a moment longer than usual. Keith wondered if he was cold.

 

Could he feel the chill in the room or was Lance too far gone into his magic? Was he able to process the environment around him, or was it going to be a shock to him when he woke up? 

 

Was his aura like how Shiro’s had once been? Or would it now be like how Shiro’s now was? 

 

Every thought was banging around in Keith’s head relentlessly. Morning time meant nothing in terms of resting and prepping for the day- typically it meant emails and fielding new cases and old, thoughts that jumbled their way in the back of his mind and out his mouth over breakfast. 

 

Running helped, but how far could he get in a hospital? He didn’t have a change of clothes to run in, and the hospital probably wouldn’t appreciate him jogging down their halls in his boxers. Besides, What if Lance woke up while he was gone? 

 

What if he didn’t wake up at all?

 

_ “ _ Lance- _ “ _

 

Keith swallowed and hesitated with the morning dryness of his mouth. He’d probably have morning breath- not that Lance would be able to smell it anyways. His throat crackled before he even got the first word out and he cleared it in the quiet room, getting absolutely no response from the other resident. 

 

“Hey,” 

 

Lance still didn’t respond. 

 

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not but,” Keith stalled and took a moment to scoot closer. “I’m sor- I shouldn’t have chased you like that. It was a mistake. But you’re safe here, away from… whatever it was you were running from.”

 

Someone paced past the doorway and Keith held his breath as they passed. The blanket slipped off his shoulders as he leaned forward, like being closer and whispering would somehow get through to Lance better. 

 

“Your friend, the blonde woman, Nyma, she said she was sorry.“

 

Lance’s chest rose and fell with each breath. His breathing mimicked the beach waves that Keith played in a thousand years ago on a family trip, stirring something around in the back of his mind that he shoved down hard. 

 

“Lance, you’re safe here. And whatever’s happening to you- we can help you. I can help you.”

 

He waited on a response. Logically he knew he wouldn’t get one; Lance’s eyes wouldn’t magically pop open, but that didn’t stop Keith from gripping his arm rests like they were his motorcycle handles. 

 

Absolutely nothing. Just the ever sounding beep of a machine, and the tick of a distant clock. Someone passed by the room. 

 

“Lance,” Keith was gritting his teeth, “ _ Please,  _ wake up soon.”

 

Nothing.

 

_ “Keith, I know this is hard to understand, but… she’s not coming back. She isn’t ever going to come back.” _

 

Keith’s blood felt like fire. 

 

_ “I’m sorry I sent you home. That was a mistake.” _

 

The chair handle made a desperate noise before it shattered into wooden shards, splintering across the floor and jutting into the palm of his hand like needles. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

He was standing now, and he clawed at the wood bits dangling out of his skin. He ripped them out and in every movement of his hand he could feel the endless amounts of splinters he now had. 

 

That, and his phone beeped as it fell from his lap. The little voicemail icon blinked up at him again- the screen stopped blinking when it shattered too, hitting the opposite wall with a kick that could have won a soccer match. 

 

One moment he was sitting and watching Lance in sleepy, concerned, and hopefully not creepy silence. The next he was throwing things, kicking his chair back and throwing open the door as he stormed out into the bright light of the hallway. 

 

The air was just as sterile and unmoving as it had been the night before and would most likely be in the hours coming. It didn’t matter though as Keith took a breath so deep he felt his lungs wheeze- he didn’t run down the empty hallway as much as he sprinted. 

 

His morning runs kept him sane. They broke down his thoughts and kept him from sitting in one place too long, allowing him to stew in his own emotions. He could zone out on his run and let the overflowing bottle that was his emotions empty out into the cool air.

 

He’d be back before Lance woke. It was just one run around the block to cool his mind off. 

 

* * *

 

 

The chill was biting at her bare skin and wove it’s way through the fabric of her clothing. The sweatpants and blanket she had wrapped around her didn’t ease much; neither did the biting tension in the air between her and Rolo as she leaned against the propped up hood. Rolo had his hand shoved down into the engine, buried up to his elbow in it’s mechanical wiring and pungent hot metal smell. 

 

He was doing something to the wiring or steering or brakes or  _ whatever-  _ just something that involved a lot of Nyma having to hand off a tool and listen to muttered swears under Rolo’s breath. 

 

There was a click and a hiss as Rolo ripped his hand out of the engine, tool clanging against the ground as he chucked it. 

 

“Fuck. Fuck!”

 

Nyma pressed her tongue to her teeth. “What? What’s wrong now?”

 

The hood was slammed down, bouncing a little before it clicked into place. 

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Oh really? Couldn’t tell.”

 

“You-“ Rolo’s jaw clenched, the muscles flexing under sweat soaked skin. “You just fucking  _ left?” _

 

Nyma blinked. 

 

“Lance? You just fucking left him there, Nyma!”

 

He huffed and turned away from the engine, spitting at an empty patch of ground. He wiped at his mouth, leaving a big black smear of oil across his chin. 

 

“What should I have done? Picked him up and ran? Again?” She replied, “carried him home and tucked him into bed again? Maybe read him a bedtime story?”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Rolo said, turning to face her again, “You told me- you said you’d wait. That you’d wait until you were both better prepared.”

 

“For Lotor?” She let out a harsh snort of air, something between a laugh and an expression of anger, “As if. That was a once in a lifetime opportunity- it just didn’t happen to be this lifetime.”

 

“So what about Lance, huh? We just leave him behind? Get the fuck out of Altea?”

 

Nyma straighten up and pulled her blanket tighter. She studied the oil across Rolo’ mouth. The way his lips turned up and his arms flexed. “Yeah. He knew the risk. And now, we get the fuck out of Altea.”

 

* * *

Keith stopped at the intersection of street-that-had-a-lot-of-red-cars and street-with-busy-outdoor-restaurant. His lungs strained under his rushed breathing and the waistband of his jeans was cutting into his hips. Somewhere in his mind was the tinge of regret for not having brought a change of clothes to the hospital; it was washed over by the thought that he hadn’t actually intended to stay the night there. 

 

He never stayed the night at the hospital before now. There’d been nights where Shiro had stayed and their father had carried a sleepy Keith out to the car, setting him in the back before leaving to go home. Keith would be dimly aware of the night passing around him; the cool air of the cracked open windows, the heater running hot air over his shoulders, his dad’s jazz music playing softly as they passed under streetlights. Every few feet they’d be plunged into darkness before a bright strip of light would shine in through the windows- it was one of those strangely vivid and harsh memories that Keith couldn’t erase from his mind. 

 

He could almost taste the gasoline in the air from when his dad would pull into a gas station. It was just as potent as the memory of begging to stay by his older brother’s and his mother’s side-

 

Keith spit. It landed on the sidewalk only a few inches away. For a moment he stood there and just stared before arching his back and taking another step, leading back up into a jog. Letting his head get lost in the blood pumping through him and the sweat gathering at his bunching clothing. He wished he’d had a pair of earbuds with him to listen to music with- the further he ran, the more he woke up, and the more the sounds of the city around him pissed him off. 

 

He missed his running shoes. He missed his bed. He missed his mo-

 

A water fountain steamed as Keith sprinted past it. 

 

There was no margin of error for him anymore. There never truly was one though, just a set of lines that he’d barrel rolled his way through. Don’t fight other students? Broken. Follow in Shiro’s perfect footsteps? Failed. Pretend like the afternoons at the hospital and his brother’s failing mental health wasn’t impacting every aspect of Keith’s life, especially academically? Really fucking failed. 

 

But hell if he couldn’t run through it all. He could run until his skin was hot to the touch and he was practically steaming in the post run calm. 

 

The hospital was in sight now, just a block down from his last turn. Keith kept his pace steady, hating the way his boots chafed his heels as he went. They kept painfully digging even though they were long broken in, a slow and torturous punishment for deciding to take a run. 

 

Keith was thankful when he was able to slow to an almost crawl as he passed through the automatic doors to the hospital. The Altean morning was cold but he couldn’t tell anymore, and the hospital windows fogged up as he passed by. 

 

A doctor threw him a harsh glance as he lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the sweat lining his forehead and Keith ignored him, making a quick beeline for the coffee machine. He needed the caffeine- and once he had it, turned heel towards Lance’s room. 

 

A quick breakfast, a call to Shiro, maybe some more thoughtful staring at the boy who hadn’t moved in a day-

 

Wait. 

 

Had there been this many nurses in this wing before?

 

“Somebody get a red nurse, stat!” 

 

Keith pressed against the wall to avoid a frantic looking nurse, who practically sprinted down the hallway. Up ahead was an almost solid wall of yellow and green auras that obstructed Keith’s view. Not uncommon aura colors for medical professionals, but certainly something to be wary of when so many people were clustered around-

 

Was that Lance’s room?

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

“Hey, hey! Excuse me,” He half-shouted at the amassed group, “I’m supposed to be in there!”

 

Keith had to push his way past a few lab-coat donned individuals to get a better view, losing his coffee somewhere along the way. He was still all sweaty and people were grabbing him and pushing at him- Keith started yanking people back by their shirts to get through. 

 

“I need- to get- in there!” He grunted, shoving his way through elbows. “What the hell is going on?” 

 

He could feel his own palms heat up to an alarming temperature- there was a reason so few red aura people pursued medical fields. He could accidentally burn people or make their blood boil or something equally terrible- 

 

“It’s the patient!” Someone responded, “He’s awake!”

 

Lance? Lance was awake?

 

Keith felt like a sock in a wringer once he made it to the other side of the crowd, taking in the scene in front of him. 

 

A nurse, the one who’d been in to check on Lance periodically through the morning, was nervously huddled next to the door. She looked up at Keith as he approached, red hot against a sea of yellow and green. 

 

“Oh it’s- oh my god, it’s you! Thank goodness,” She sighed, scribbling on her clipboard as she looked him up and down, “We thought you were still in there.”

 

Keith stopped dead in his tracks. “What the hell?”

 

“We knew he had powerful abilities but this… this is highly unusual.”

 

No  _ shit.  _ Keith could only stand and stare at the door to the room. It was completely frozen over, frost creeping up along the walls and ceiling and floor, the whole metal area looking like it was severely freezer burnt. Even the little window that allowed for viewing was coated in a heavy layer of ice. He could feel the chill radiating off it all as he approached. 

 

“He woke up while you were gone. By the time we were notified, well… this happened. It was only a matter of seconds.”

 

“He’s still in there?” Keith asked, looking between the mousy nurse and the door, “Is Lance still in there?!”

 

Lance was still in there, barely awake and confused and alone and covered in injuries- 

 

“There’s no way he could get out! We’re waiting for someone to come melt it off for us- we don’t usually have defrosting agents on hand and-“

 

“Defrosting charms aren’t meant to cover this much.” Keith finished for her. 

 

Despite the freeze, Keith could still feel his own heat. His veins were still hot and his skin was still glistening. There was no way the nurses hadn’t seen him coming from a mile away, with his aura shimmering all around like he was the world’s worst human firefly. 

 

“I need to get in there-“ Keith started. If Lance was awake, if he was  _ hurt-  _ maybe he wasn’t awake during it but Keith had promised to protect him- he  _ needed  _ to get into that room.

 

He’d never be able to make up for the past but fuck it, there was no time like the present. And Shiro and Allura were nowhere around to tell him not to-

 

He could feel his heart pounding. His blood was racing and he felt the same energy he had while running take over him. It washed over him and took him whole and his mouth felt entirely too dry to be healthy. 

 

“I can’t allow you to do that. Alejandro is already stressed physically enough, defrosting will take time. We  _ have  _ to treat him gently. A red aured nurse will be here shortly and in a few hours we should- wait, what are you doing?”

 

Keith ignored her and rubbed his hands together, mimicking the old-timey defibrillators that he saw in old movies. He damn near created a spark. 

 

“No! Wait, stop! You aren’t-“

 

Keith slammed his hands against the metal door. He felt the hot rush go through him, in him, taking from the deepest parts of him and rerouting it to the door. His fingertips felt like fire and his muscles burned- he slid his feet into a better position to push with. 

 

A ringing overcame him almost instantly, overriding the straining sounds of his jaw as he clenched. He could feel water under his hands, dripping between his hands and the door and puddling up at his feet. It ran down the walls and the window and the ceiling and if it dropped down on him he didn’t feel it-

 

_ “I’m sorry, Keith. I shouldn’t have sent you home, that was a mistake. You should have been there when mom passed.”  _

 

The wall of ice between him and the metal door that barred him from the formerly unconscious boy fell. He felt it slip out under his fingers, partially melted and sliding off the walls as Keith pushed his way through. 

 

The door opened and Keith went flying in, the force behind his pushing redirected. He stumbled in, catching himself from face planting and too numb to feel the heat in his fingers-

 

“Keith?” 

 

The floor was freezing and Keith could feel the wall of nurses behind him, clambering to get in as Keith looked up at Lance. 

 

Lance, who was fully awake and still in the same spot Keith had left him only a little bit ago. The palor in his face had lifted and he was able to sit up, staring down at the fallen Keith from his bed perch. 

 

“Keith Kogane?” 

 

Heat still flooded through him and there was a steady puddle growing under him from the frost melting all around- Keith just stared back. 

 

“What the hell is going on?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so. I’ve been having a lot of trouble writing this. I’ve never been good with multi chapter docs and while I’m still invested in this story, actually sitting down and writing it is super difficult for me. Thank you for your understanding and all the sweet comments I’ve received so far. <3


	8. Royksopp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY FUN FACT The story name changed from Neon to Vanished. (Neon). IT's the same story yall, I just noticed a lot of people naming their stories neon as well and idk wanted to be different <3

Lance hadn’t wanted to wake up. He’d be lying if he said that he wanted to wake up- 

 

“No, he hasn’t responded to any questions.” 

 

Something about being drained to your lowest point makes you just want to roll over and let it all pass- but Lance couldn’t let go. He’d hung on, resurfaced, washed back up on the beach of reality and now he had a cup of wiggly green jello in his hands. 

 

“We’ve run tests and explained to him what happened but he’s completely silent. He registers our existence but beyond that… nothing.”

 

He’d felt himself get sucked to the deepest part of the pool, get pulled down the drain and left only to desperately cling to what was remaining of him and his magic after a blow out. Magical exhaustion- yeah. He was pretty exhausted. 

 

“He said my name before. He asked me what was going on  _ I heard him-“ _

 

“Mr. Kogane, we understand you want a chance to talk to the suspect but from our observations, he simply isn’t recovered enough to-“

 

“He froze an entire fucking wall! How is that not a sign of recovery?!”

 

“Mr. Kogane,  _ please-  _ magical outbursts are routinely common for patients recovering from magic exhaustion, his body is just responding to the rapid regrowth of his-“

 

Lance didn’t flinch when he heard the slamming noise outside his door. He took a bite of jello. 

 

“Keith! Outside, now!” 

 

“Shiro-“

 

“Now, Keith!”

 

Lance just kept staring out the window. It’d stopped raining, but he couldn’t tell what time it was. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He felt caved in, like someone had dented the inside of his chest and gone messing around with his insides. Blinking was a dedicated process, and if he didn’t pay attention, his head would lull forward without intention. It was like being a sentient ragdoll with a migraine from hell. 

 

* * *

 

“Wanna explain that little temper tantrum back there?” Shiro asked, rounding Keith into an empty corner of the hospital courtyard. 

 

Keith leaned back against the wall and pressed his palms to his brows. He pushed and felt the resistance of the world around him. He was still so angry- 

 

“Listen to me Shiro, Lance is in there. He spoke to me before- he asked me what was going on.”

 

“Keith, you heard the doctors. That was just a normal outburst, he probably went immediately into shock afterwards.” Shiro’s cool response lingered in the back of Keith’s mind. “There’s no reason for you to be so…”

 

Explosive. Shiro didn’t say it out loud, but Keith heard it loud and clear. In all honesty, Shiro was right; Keith didn’t have a reason for the fire in his veins. But it was there, and every time someone mentioned Lance staring dead ahead in his room made the fire burn even brighter. 

 

Maybe it was how Lance had gone from being so much to so little. Star student to nothing. But part of his brain insisted otherwise, and Keith let that part burn.  

 

“I don’t know, Shiro, I really don’t. I don’t understand why I’m like this right now.”

 

“Alright, well, why don’t you cool off a little out here. Take a breather. Me and Allura will handle Lance.”

 

“But Shiro-“

 

“Take. A. Breather. Go home and get some actual rest and food.” Shiro said, clasping a hand on Keith’s shoulder and giving a firm squeeze. “There’s food in the fridge.” 

 

Keith shot a grim look down the hospital corridor they’d previously been in before giving Shiro a solemn nod. Sometimes the older man knew what was best for Keith before Keith himself even knew; sticking around would just lead to more anger, no matter how much he wanted to march back in there and camp out next to Lance’s bed. 

 

“Yeah. Okay.” He responded. “I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

A little later, and keith stared aimlessly down at the leftovers before trapping them behind the fridge door. They were gross and everything he hated- Shiro had probably been banking on Lance being asleep for longer and took the opportunity to order whatever he wanted. Keith wandered around the kitchen, somehow looping back to refrigerator again and expecting something different. 

 

Nothing was different. It was the same food as it was a minute ago. 

 

Water dripped down onto his shoulders from his wet hair. There was the feeling of his bare feet against the tiles below. His looser clothes let him breathe; basketball shorts and a tank, along with all the windows in the house being open. 

 

He was  _ bored.  _

 

He’d been removed from the source of anger and without it he felt like a damp towel; rejected and thrown to the sidelines. He didn’t have the fire in his blood anymore; just passive resignation that was somehow infinitely worse. 

 

He slammed the fridge shut. 

 

The house was a mess- not that it was ever as clean as it was when their mother was alive, but it usually never fell into such disarray. He and Shiro were able to keep some general semblance of order- now there were coffee rings embedded in the table top. The mug had missed the coaster by only a few inches. It seemed so unnaturally chaotic for them that Keith automatically found himself grabbing a towel to wipe clean with, setting himself at work towards the coffee rings. 

 

There were yellow manila folders spread all across, papers organized in a way only Allura could decipher. Keith tried to avoid moving them too much, but didn’t fight the inevitable as he scooted them around. There were scrawled notes and files and lengthy papers on the process of learning charms and- 

 

Lance McClain’s school portrait smiled up at him. Keith flicked it away. 

 

The picture, and the school record attached, fluttered down on top of a folder. With a wave of his hand other papers followed suit, picking themselves up and folding themselves away with ease. Little stacks formed and Keith swiped his rag under all of them, collecting the build up of dust and general crap that’d piled up on the table. Cleaning was typically passive, but something in him needed the space clear. He couldn’t explain it- it just  _ needed to be clean.  _

 

He kept going until there was nothing left in the kitchen to clean. The trash was empty, the floors sparkling, and the papers were all perfectly sorted and stacked- except one sheet that slipped out, dragging raked across the table to where Keith sat. 

 

In the resounding emptiness of the kitchen, Keith stared down at Lance’s photo. Everything was stilled around him and there was no distractions- no crickets outside to pull him away, and no mess for him to stay dedicated to in his calm state. No calmly breathing boy for him to watch over. 

 

He stared at the photo. 

 

Squinted. 

 

_ Stared. Keith stared at the back of the boy’s head, drilling imaginary holes into the soft brown hair. He could feel the paint on his pencil chip off as he ground his nail into it. _

 

_ “What an imaginative comparison, Lance. However, being in a centrifuge for more than a few minutes would absolutely kill you and I’m afraid it wouldn’t be very much fun, very unlike a roller coaster ride. I would… suggest against it.”  _

 

_ Keith snorted.  _

 

_ Lance’s head dipped down. He slumped in his seat and Keith’s view was obstructed. The teacher kept going and Keith gave up trying to spy on the other boy, leaning back into his own seat and directing his gaze outside.  _

 

_ The rain outside the classroom was falling fairly steadily- Keith watched them run by. He watched them race down the windows, his focus blurring out as the dull lesson went on in the front of the room.  _

 

_ Was it raining all over Altea? Was his mother seeing the same raindrops down her window?  _

 

_ His eyes blurred. Was Shiro with her still so she wasn’t alone? Keith blinked and took an angry swipe at his eyes.  _

 

_ They were still blurred apparently, and he wiped using his sleeve- it took a few swipes for him to realize that he wasn’t crying, no- _

 

_ The raindrops on the window really were traveling upwards in front of him, defying the rain.  _

 

Keith jolted backwards from the table and Lance’s portrait burst into flames. 

 

* * *

 

Lance couldn’t (wouldn’t) answer any of their questions. Allura had tried staring him down, debating between promises of punishment from the government to promises of protection. It was all intensely maddening; she crossed her legs under heady frustration. 

 

“Alejandro,” She sighed, “We just want to know who taught you the charm, and why you stole for them. If you cooperate...“

 

She paused. “If you cooperate, you will be placed under Altean police protection.”

 

Lance snorted, and it was the biggest reaction Allura had gotten out of him since Keith left. Part of her wished that the hothead has stayed because Heaven knows he was bad at interrogations, but at least Lance had  _ spoken  _ to him. He’d gotten something out of the stoic boy was calmly ignored her in favor of poking at his food.

 

“I promise you, Lance, that you will be placed under my personal protection.” She stated, “No harm or punishment will come to you.”

 

It was only a partial lie. Everything depended on the truth- if Lance was working for a bigger group or if he was working alone and had simply stolen from an already not-quite-legal business. Truth was that she didn’t want to hurt him; Someone already had, if Lance had been driven to magic exhaustion. 

 

Part of her was extraordinarily happy that she’d taken on this case privately; if she hadn’t, Lance would already be hours into interrogation. There were a few things about the police force that she frowned upon- in her years as leader, she’d fought for a more compassionate approach than the outdated shoot-first-ask-later.

 

She crossed the room to stare out the same window that Lance was looking out at, trying to find what he found so appealing. The rain rolled down in hefty streaks and someone out in the parking lot had taken up two spaces with one car- she sighed.

 

“Alejandro, I hope you understand we’re not trying to treat you like a criminal. I just want the best for Altea,” She could see him in the reflection of the window, “I want the best for our home.”

 

Lance didn’t respond, but it wasn’t shocking. 

 

“I believe that, as the head of the Altean force, I am to do what is best for my land. My father sacrificed so much of his time as the head to create a better Altea too- part of that was creating the academy, to train the next generation of explorers and defenders to protect Altea. You were part of that, yes?”

 

He nodded and she followed his movements in the window. 

 

“When you entered the academy, you took full advantage of everything offered to you. You joined clubs, got amazing grades, you’re one of the most talented magicians to exist in Altea at the moment- Alejandro, the potential you have to work towards a better Altea for all is astounding.”

 

She heard a sniffle, but didn’t turn. 

 

“I don’t believe that someone like you should be running around on the streets, using your skills for…” She paused, “What you were doing. I think you can offer Altea something very few people have ever been able to accomplish and that, if used correctly, can lead you to great places in life.” She turned around on a pointed heel. “You didn’t join the academy because you just wanted to have fun, correct?”

 

This time she saw Lance nod. 

 

“I know. So, Lance,” She slipped into the nickname with easy as she crossed the floor, taking her seat down by the bed, “When I say that I will offer you my full protection, it is not a rouse. I’m not here to lie to you, or trick you into something bigger. I see great potential in you the same way my father saw potential in me.”

 

He closed his eyes and Allura felt the pull of a chill in the room. 

 

“Now, please, Lance,” She asked once again, “Can you tell me who you were working for and why?” 

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk bowed his head. He could hear the catnip going crazy over in its hanging cage, the chains attaching it’s basket to the ceiling squeaking as it rocked. 

 

The balmera crystals were fake. He’d popped the top off with a butterfly filled hope that he’d be greeted with the gold gelatin he desperately wanted it to be- it wasn’t. All that time, energy, and dedication from Pidge and himself was worth nothing in the end. He let them get so invested in something that was almost definitely not going to work out; He could vomit out of disappointment. 

 

Hunk was never one to scream or cry when upset, no; it took a much more physical toll. He could feel all of his essence pool somewhere down near his feet and the previously bubbly excitement fizzled into a hard sludge that ran in him. He felt unbelievably tired- too tired to turn and get to work cooking like he’d previously planned.

 

“It’s okay, Hunk,” He whispered, “Just breathe it out.”

 

The chains clinked again. Pidge snored from the other room.

 

He had no idea what to do. 

 

The crystals had been part of their main hope, their main plan to find Matt after they’d explored every possible avenue already. He’d put hope he didn’t have into them- hope that, as it turned out, meant nothing to the cruel turns of fate. 

 

Hunk stared down at his fingernails. Lance wasn’t even around to help- actually, where was Lance? Pausing his momentary meltdown, Hunk pulled away from the counter. He gave the catnip a quick pat as he passed by in a dire hope to sooth it’s worried swinging before he tiptoed through the living room and past Pidge’s sleeping form. 

 

Lance’s room was right ahead- the old bedroom that Matt had never filled out completely, simply tossing a mattress in there and calling it good. Hunk could appreciate the meager effort, especially since it’d come in handy once they’d taken over the apartment. He poked at the door and, when it didn’t give, turned the knob. Still nothing. 

 

He hadn’t seen the inside of Lance’s room for a while. He’d never taken the time; usually he was in the kitchen or in Pidge’s room with her and her computer, struggling to get everything in their life figured out. Struggling to find the man who’s apartment they were living out of- the brother that’d never turned back up. 

 

Hunk didn’t walk into Lance’s room. He couldn’t. Whatever spell Lance had used to shut his door was keeping Hunk tight out, denying him access.

 

“Hey, Lance?” He called out, knowing there was no one on the other side, but still hoping. “Buddy, if you’re home…”

 

He stalled out, keeping his hand on the knob. He didn't know what to say. What did he and Lance even talk about anymore? When was the last time they’d had a conversation that wasn’t based around getting more money or more food or more general living expenses. Actually, when was the last time they’d had a conversation?

 

Were the days they spent sitting up all night in their dorm talking about girls and boys and whether the academy teachers would notice if they tacked up a few more posters completely over? Hunk had hoped not, but nothing seemed to point out the contrary. Every moment of his life was spent around Pidge now or watching Lance heat up leftovers as he crawled in through the windows, wondering if the boy had eaten during his time out doing… whatever the hell it was that Lance did every night. When he came home disheveled and sweaty and ravenous for all the food in the poorly-stocked fridge.  

 

How much had he missed? When had Lance started locking his door? How long had he been gone?

 

Did he even know Lance anymore? 

 

“I’m heading out for a bit.” Hunk went on, speaking to the still air around him. “I’m, uh, gonna go pick up some dinner. Special treat and all. Text me if you want anything.”

 

He hesitated, feeling the knob refuse to twist in his sweaty palm. “I won’t be gone long.”

 

He let go. Wiping his hands against his pants, Hunk marched over to the closet and pulled out a raincoat- he’d heard the rain start up hours ago and refuse to die down since. The coat felt bigger on him now than it did before, looser around the shoulders and it didn’t strain when he pulled it up over his chest. 

 

He needed a walk. 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith switched his motorcycle helmet for his hoodie, snugly zipping up his leather jacket. The motorcycle was still touchably hot in the dark rain as he pulled the cover over it, securing it with his trusted locking charm. It was the one Shiro had taught him ages ago, back when the bike belonged to him and still had it’s solid black paint job. Now the charm kept the bike right where Keith parked it; hidden along the dank side alley of the Chinese restaurant.

 

If Shiro got his favorites, Keith was going to get his. He thumbed the folded dollars in his pocket as he walked into the restaurant, fighting the push door for a moment in a futile effort to pull it. The bell above dinged- Keith shook the rain off his coat. They’d been coming here for such a long time that the routine was burned into the back of his mind; It wasn’t that he’d known his order the second he’d gotten off his bike, but rather he’d known his order from the very first time he, Shiro, and their dad had walked in. 

 

The familiar, warm glow of the restaurant relaxed him. He ordered and lazily leaned back against the wall, his head aching against the cool glass. To his left was a vibrant poster for a cultural fair Keith definitely would not be attending later in the month, and to his right was the rain-soaked window, giving him a blurry reflection of himself. He looked melted in the sprinting raindrops- almost the same way Lance’s face had earlier before he’d woken up. 

 

The mental image of Lance’s portrait combusting in front of him still burned brightly in his head, just as detailed as the soft hair of the boy in the classroom years ago. Keith didn’t have an explanation and the frustration made him screw up his face- he didn’t know Lance McClain. It was black and white; Not while they were in school and not now, older and separated by life events. Maybe there’d been some brief moments where they’d interacted that were so small and insignificant that Keith forgot them-

 

Someone’s order was barked out across the restaurant. Keith startled, listened intently, then turned away when a woman scooped the take-out bag off the counter. 

 

It wasn’t his. The restaurant was uncomfortably warm.

 

He watched a man jog down the sidewalk. Someone else stalled outside of a store across the street, their music beating loudly before they pulled away. Rain pounded down like it had been for hours. Keith could swear he still felt it running down his face-

 

_ The water ran down his face.  _

 

_ It was a fruitless effort however- the tear marks were gone, but the splotchy and rosey patches on his face were still visible. The skin was still flushed and his nose still a bright red beacon- _

 

_ Keith slammed his balled fists against the counter. He said he wouldn’t cry, and yet here he was, tearing up in the bathroom because his dumb ass couldn’t hold it in.  He was even shaking, physically unable to stop himself from the hard emotional release. _

 

_ Okay, so, his mom was gone. Shiro was hurt. Dad was off somewhere, doing something- nothing Keith couldn’t handle realistically handle.  _

 

_ “C'mon, get it together!” He grit his teeth, “We said we wouldn’t cry!” _

 

_ A sob escaped him as everything except his voice betrayed him. He tasted a hint of blood from biting down so hard.  _

 

_ “I said I wouldn’t fucking cry.” He stuttered. _

 

_ There was a harsh, sharp whistling noise and Keith didn’t initially register when cold water hit his back and head. He glanced up- the school’s sprinkler system had engaged, raining water down on Keith. Seconds later the water was accompanied by the ringing noise of the fire alarm, echoing around the walls and bouncing off the tiles of the multi-stalled bathroom.  _

 

_ He stood shock still for a moment, ears ringing. Water poured down on him, wetting his hair, uniform, and blissfully his face, letting the tears he couldn’t hold back blend in. He could hear students out in the hall groan and be ushered out of their classrooms, stomping down the halls in their regulation black boots- _

 

_ Keith let out a shaky breath. _

 

“-Eith! Keith! Hey, man, you doing okay?” 

 

Pain radiated behind his eyes as he jolted back to reality, the shaky image of himself in the school mirror still swimming in front of him. Keith shrunk away, grabbing the arms of the man gently holding his shoulder, fully prepared to flip him in some horrible flight-or-fight response-

 

“Long time no see, huh? Ouch, by the way.” 

 

Keith stopped, blinked, and widened his eyes. A friendly face smiled back at him, pink cheeked and happy, and Keith slowly released his tight grip. The other boy was greeting him as an old friend; Keith swore he was looking a relative stranger in the face. 

 

“You totally spaced out for a minute there! They called your order like, three times, dude.” 

 

His brain was spinning in circles. He’d seen this face before; it was tacked up right alongside Lance’s portrait in their living room. It was just as round and expressive as it was in the photos, but it carried a heavy weight that Keith hadn’t seen before- it rested in the dark undereye bags and shadows across the jawline that were absent at the academy.

 

“H-Hunk?”

 

Hunk let go of Keith’s shoulder. He held up a bag in his other hand, lifting up Keith’s food for him to examine. “Guess we had the same ideas for dinner, huh?”

 

Was he in- Was he in shock? Was this shock? It felt suspiciously like shock. Hunk reached out and set Keith’s food down on the little table near them, pulling out both chairs with an expectant gaze. 

 

“C’mon! It’s been like, years!” 

 

Keith was sure something in his brain was backfiring. Hunk smiled at him and sat down, pushing the various table decorations aside to make room for his elbows. The big yellow raincoat he wore had seen better days, certainly, and the man himself seemed to have genuine excitement written on his (tired) face. Keith was acutely aware of the knife hidden in his boot pressing against his calf and it’s twin, a smaller blade that hung like a weight in the pocket of his coat. 

 

And maybe he was making a mistake, but Keith didn’t fight the natural instinct to take a seat down across from Hunk. He wrapped his hands around the warm bag of food and let the heat soak into him, fiddling with the knot that kept the bag sealed.

 

“What are you doing here?” Keith asked, fully aware that his phone was in his pocket only inches away. He could grab it, text Shiro, and they’d have Hunk in Altean custody in only a handful of minutes. 

 

But he didn’t. Hunk was, despite the logical part of Keith’s brain screaming otherwise, a calming presence. The warm yellow glow around him reminded Keith of his mom’s long ago- he instinctively pulled himself into it, trying to meld himself to the happy color.

 

“Uh, getting dinner? How are you doing lately, Keith?” He paused, the brown eyes sweeping over Keith’s appearance. “You seem a little stressed.” 

 

He did? Keith looked stressed? Had Hunk ever seen himself in a mirror? Keith would have had a hard time believing he and Hunk were the same age if he hadn’t seen the official records- the man across from him seemed to have been aged by worry and stress. It was the same look Shiro always had after mom died and before-

 

“I’m doing… good.” Keith stalled, “I’m doing okay. What about you?” 

 

Hunk smiled. “Same here. Man, it’s so good to see you, We were all so worried when you got kicked out of the academy,”

 

Keith made a movement towards his knife out of habitual instinct. Hunk had shifted, his coat rustling as his shoulders relaxed.

 

“Lance couldn’t sleep for like, a week.”

 

The instinct cooled. Keith covered for the sudden movement by grabbing a pair of chopsticks instead, squishing them down into the bag despite the full knowledge that they had almost a full drawer at home. 

 

(Neither of them cooked. Keith used them to poke at the fireplace in the living room.)

 

“Oh,” Keith’s voice sounded fake to him, including the little high pitched squeak it made, “That’s weird.”

 

He thought back to the plain, emotionless face Lance had as he slept. The way that the blue aura shown over his features and gave his warm undertone skin a clashing color- how it made his hair seem shades darker than it actually was in the sunlight. Keith hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him after he’d woken up before being shooed out of the room by nurses and doctors alike- 

 

How long had Lance been so tired for?

 

Hunk’s face shifted. His eyebrows pushed together and the wrinkles under his eyes became more pronounced. “I mean, is it? The guy had like, a huge crush on you.”

 

Keith blinked. He was sure he opened his mouth to say something, but only a strangled noise came out. His chest felt hollow- he could feel himself struggle to say something, _anything-_ but nothing.

 

Maybe he had nothing to say at all. Lance’s face was in his mind the same way it had been for days  _ (Weeks?)  _ now- his mouth ran dry.

 

The little gleam came back into Hunk’s eye. “Are you serious right now? How did you not notice?” 

 

“It’s just,” The line was blurring between skirting an unexpected encounter with a wanted suspect, and having a genuine conversation with an old classmate. He resaw flashes of the events from earlier; upside-down raindrops and a random fire alarm. “I didn’t. I didn’t know.” 

 

Lance had recognized him. Not just when he woke but before then too, in the dark hall of the  _ Galaxy-  _ Keith swallowed. Lance knew him. Lance  _ knew  _ him,  _ recognized  _ him- Something hitched in Keith’s chest. Something solid and painful that didn’t go down when he swallowed. 

 

“Well dang. I told him you were pretty closed off but,” Hunk looked remorseful as he searched Keith’s face, “I didn’t know it was this bad.” 

 

The thing in his chest spread down to his stomach and formed a horrible, aching pit. He didn’t- He didn’t  _ know.  _ “I had no idea, honest.” 

 

Hunk frowned, but didn’t keep the expression for long. His face softened and Keith thought maybe the food in his hands had grown hotter rather than him getting colder. “It’s okay, Keith. We get it- everyone knew you were going through some stuff. Your mom, Shiro- it was obviously a difficult time for you.”

 

Keith wet his lips because somehow they’d gotten very dry. He thought he hid everything so well. “You guys… knew?”

 

A snort. “Yeah, Keith, we all kinda knew. You were the angsty emo kid and, well, you weren’t the only one affected by Zarkon but we knew it hit you hard. It’s how Shiro lost his arm, right?” 

 

“Ye- Yeah,” Keith stuttered. “The explosion at the old Altean base- Shiro was there and-”

 

Hunk reached out a hand and ran his thumb over Keith’s forearm. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until the reassuring gesture ran over him. “Hey, you don’t have to talk about it. We all remember the Zarkon panic, Keith. Do you remember Pidge Gunderson?”

 

Keith was getting whiplash. Allura’s voice in his head was chastising him for not using the opportunity to find out as much as possible but Keith wasn’t sure he could open his mouth, let alone form words. He shook his head- No, he didn’t remember the faceless genius on the expelled records. 

 

Had he known them, too? 

 

“I didn’t think you would, but,” Hunk looked nervous and shot a glance around the restaurant, like he was worried someone would overhear. No one was close by but he leaned in regardless, and Keith could have laughed at the painful irony of the situation if he didn’t have the sharp turn of bile in his stomach. “Pidge’s older brother went missing in the explosion too. His name was Matt.”

 

Hunk bit his lip and leaned back into his seat. The nervous closeness was gone.

 

Keith’s whole world was shifting on its axis. The man (boy?) he was sitting in front of, across from, the one with a smiling portrait tacked up in Keith’s home cast him a dark look. He was personally spinning Keith’s whole world and life in a few short phrases and sentences and Keith was helpless against it. He had nothing against the storms brewing behind Hunk’s eyes with the sole exception of being able to hold his food tighter to his chest like a buoy in a dark ocean. 

 

“Listen, Keith, could I ask you an impossible favor?” 

 

Keith pressed his knees together. He wanted to turn his whole body inwards and run home- his head still ached from the visions earlier. “Yeah, what is it?” 

 

Hunk sighed. In the way that this whole conversation had quickly shifted from old schoolmates meeting on accident to… whatever it was now, Keith hung on tight. He could see the change in Hunk’s eyes as well, how they darkened and shone in the orange light of the his aura. 

 

“I know it’s unlikely, but, if you have see Lance anytime soon could you just tell him that I’m sorry? And, uh,” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck nervously and scooted his seat back. “There’s garlic rolls for him in the fridge.”

 

The knot in his stomach sprouted veins that ran icy cold down his legs, filling every part of him with some cold, unknown fury. Another person with another apology to Lance, said just as they were about to take off. Hunk had already stood and turned away to grab his food, returning faster than Keith was able to articulate. 

 

“It was nice seeing you around, Keith.” 

 

Keith moved before his brain could process it. He relinquished his grip on the food and stood, his chair squeaking obnoxiously, the same way it had in Lance’s hospital room. 

 

“Hey, Hunk,” He said with a gutted voice, “I- If I see him, I’ll let him know.” 

 

Hunk frowned for a second, but it vanished before Keith could draw anything from it. “Thanks, Keith. Don’t be a stranger.” 

 

And then he left, and Keith stood right where he was until Hunk was around the corner of the restaurant and out of sight, vanishing into the rainy night. Keith stayed glued to his spot, unable to tell if there was something keeping him there or if it was his own mind letting him know that now was not the time to chase Hunk down- nor was it time to go home and stuff his face with food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dang oh dang oh dang
> 
> Anyways, hope yall are having a good evening and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh leave me a comment if you want, they make me happy and I usually try to reply <3


	9. Chapter 9

Altea was a metropolis, spanning every walk of life and every season the great world had to offer it. It’s metallic skyscrapers met the suburbs outside of the city, eventually, but the glow never quite reached. The neonic lights highlighted everything about the city; it’s infrastructure and its booming population, the bad parts and the good, and the inevitable twists in the road that lead to nothing but a brick wall with a faded poster promising something about psychics and your future. 

 

It was a city designed on the future and machines and the everlasting pursuit to incorporate beauty with science and magic and make all things possible; but sometimes, the natural world threw back with a hitch. Sometimes the snow crushed the lights out of city blocks and occasionally the heat would rise up and shut down a particularly sensitive reactor, causing a shut down of some system. Sometimes the trees would moult all at once and the street cleaners would have to work harder to unblock the storm drains before the rain pooled and flooded the streets. 

 

This was closer to one of those times. The trees hadn’t shed, but the rain certainly poured, and there was no timeline of when or if it would stop. Not that it truly mattered; rain wasn’t going to stop Keith Kogane from narrowly missing a sharp turn down a busy street on his motorbike, his takeout desperately holding on for dear life from it’s tight purchase on a handle bar. 

 

He had places to be and people to question- rain wouldn’t stop him, no matter how much it soaked him through to the core. Keith pushed on, and Altea didn’t mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Rolo slammed on the brakes, swerving a little to avoid slamming into the  _ dumbass  _ motorist who just ran a red light. He shouted and Nyma twisted a blonde strand of hair around her finger.

 

“Told you we shoulda taken the backway out,” She snarked, “There’s all sorts of idiots out on the roads right now.” 

 

Rolo tensed his hands over the steering wheel.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith pushed the throttle as hard as it would go. The bike made a horrifically loud noise in response, but Keith kept pushing, leaning his full weight to take a corner. He was breaking a few speed laws, sure, but it wasn’t anything Allura couldn’t get him out of. And it wasn’t anything he hadn’t gotten before, ticket wise. 

 

The hospital was only a few blocks away and with every second he drew closer, his heart beat faster. He was starting to piece things together, slowly but surely. He didn’t have his whiteboard or his red string to map it all together, but mentally it was all there. A sharp pain was blooming in the back of his head and it was only pushed back by recounting everything, trying to make sense of nothingness.

 

He needed to know more about Matt and Pidge Gunderson. If Matt had been involved with the Zarkon panic, then maybe Shiro knew him. Maybe Lance would be willing to talk about it now that Keith had met Hunk and, apparently, Lance a few times. 

 

Lance. Keith hoped the rain wasn’t evaporating off his skin before it hit him as the boy’s image flashed in his head. The mention of Lance’s name made his blood spike hot-

 

He took another turn. Leaned the other direction to offset it, and jetted into the hospital parking lot far too fast. The wheels screamed as he whipped around into a parking spot that really wasn’t an actual spot as much as it was flat sidewalk. His boots hit the ground with a splash of mud and he untied the takeout from the handlebars, grimacing at the pool of liquid that sloshed around the bottom of the bag. 

 

Marching up to the hospital was a feat of it’s own. His hair stuck to him in a wet mop and he dripped all over the entryway carpet, doing his best to wipe the mud off them before stepping onto the white-tiled floor. They had their sterile, monotonic aesthetic down at least- here he was to screw it all up with an aged pair of combat boots that squeaked as he walked. 

 

A nurse shot him a concerned look as he marched by her. Maybe it was the way his wet leather creaked with each step or how he held his takeout like it was a weapon to be brandished- Keith just went on. He knew where he was going.

 

He had a lot of questions- not sure which ones would actually verbalize themselves and come out his mouth, but they were there in the forefront of his mind, battling each other for importance. They took precedence over everything else, including the mud he was tracking through the hospital hallways and the way he glared at any passing employees. When he reached Lance’s room he paused and his boots made a squishing noise. 

 

Shiro turned to look at him with tired eyes.

 

“Hey,” Shiro started, looking up from the bench in front of the viewing window, “What are you doing here? I was just about to text you.”

 

“I went out and got some dinner. Decided to bring some for Lance.” Keith lied, holding up the tied bag for Shiro to see, like it wasn’t blatantly obvious and also leaking. “Can I see him?”

 

Shiro looked down at the bag, hesitated, and then looked up at Keith. 

 

“It’s raining outside,” Keith added, “If you’re curious.” 

 

“Allura is in there right now, but I won’t stop you. Just-”

 

“Try to keep cool,” Keith cut him off, “I know. Just thought he might want some actual food instead.” 

 

A small smile crossed Shiro’s face and he stood up, running a hand through his equally dark hair. “I understand, Keith. Let Allura know I’ll be in the waiting room. Did you get anything for me, by chance?” 

 

Keith huffed and shrank away from the affectionate hair ruffle. “I didn’t touch any of your leftovers, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

 

The older man laughed. Maybe Lance had been cooperating the past few hours since Shiro lacked his usual air of anxiety. He reached out and, despite the soaking wet clothing and detached aura, pulled his little brother into a full fledged hug. Keith didn’t reject it but struggled to keep his food from getting squished, leaving it dangling from his fingertips behind Shiro’s back.

 

“I’ll see you at home, okay?” Keith nodded into his shoulder. “Drive safe in the rain. No sharp corners, alright?” 

 

“Got it.” Keith replied, trying to keep his chin from cutting into Shiro’s collarbone. He bit back the  Matt-centered questions that pushed at his chest.

 

“I’m sorry I got so… short with you, earlier.” 

 

Keith closed his eyes, gently wiggling his way out of the tight grip. “Don’t worry about it, Shiro. I understand.” 

 

Shiro nodded and shifted, giving Keith a view into the room. It was the same sterile room as earlier, but the broken chair had disappeared and been replaced. Allura sat in the new one, her hand gently resting on Lance’s forehead as she slowly stroked his temple. Her eyes clouded over as she kept at the repetitive motion, physically present but a thousand miles away in thought. 

 

Keith swore he could see the shimmering outline of her pink aura in the room, rippling around the edges of her skin and bouncing off the shadows around them. It was in the way that the room seemed hazy, like effervescent silk was strung through the corners; It seemed peaceful. He wasn’t entirely sure what else he’d been expecting to be in the room now, hours later. It seemed oddly empty. Nurses, maybe cops, some lingering officials, possibly some sort of specially made up interrogation room with truth potions and handcuffs-

 

But no. It was just Lance, Allura, Shiro, himself, and his painfully wet clothing. The overhead buzzing of the hospital lights and the heavy smell of slightly damp takeout.

 

The water in his hair dripped down onto the tiles below him. In the other room Lance was breathing evenly. Keith didn’t need to be close to feel the rhythm. 

 

He set the heavy takeout bag down on the bench. “Actually, Shiro? Can I ask you about something?”

 

Shiro stopped his slow walk down the hall, throwing a glance back towards Keith. “Anytime.”

 

“I just…” Keith drifted. He’d been so powered to get back here and to sit by Lance’s side again that, when the image of his burning portrait popped into his mind, it seemed familiar rather than shocking. Lance’s face had been burned from the inside out. “Have you ever lost a memory?” 

 

Shiro didn’t respond instantly. Keith could hear the strain of his boots against the floor as he turned to face Keith fully. “Yeah, Keith, that’s a pretty normal human thing.” 

 

“No, I mean,” Keith struggled and pulled his gaze away from Lance and Allura, “Have you ever completely forgotten something on purpose? Like you erased it from your mind?”

 

Another pause. “Yeah, I have. What’s this about, Keith?”

 

He felt Shiro’s strong hand rest against his shoulder, pressing into the lean muscles. His brother’s presence was hefty in his peripheral vision.

 

“Nothing.” 

 

He felt stupid for asking Shiro. The man was a textbook case of magical PTSD and all the things that come with it, from nightmares to memory loss. But the physical aspect, the same one he’d seen on Lance where the negativity had worn away at their auras- Keith had never seen that on himself. His aura was always strong and overwhelming and powerful; a little much, to be honest. 

 

“Anything in particular you forgot?” 

 

Keith waited for the familiar rumble of heat that usually came right about now, but felt nothing. No wound up chest pain- He pressed on. “I think that I- I think that I used to know Lance. Back at the academy.”

 

Keith pressed his tongue to his teeth and tried to breath out the nervous energy.

 

“Back when we were interrogating students, there was this other boy. I didn’t remember him or even recognize him, but,” He briefly considered outing himself right then and there, but kept it inside, “But he remembered me. Recognized me. We’d even been friends at one point.” 

 

“Was he the one you punched?” 

 

Keith snorted. “Yeah, the one I punched. He startled me.”

 

Shiro took a glance over Keith’s shoulder. “I won’t say that it’s impossible, Keith. Afterall, we are talking about a boy who can turn invisible. That’s pretty impossible.”

 

_ “We get it- everyone knew you were going through some rough stuff. Your mom, Shiro- it was obviously a rough time for you.”  _

 

“Right, well,” Keith cleared his throat, “I’m gonna go eat before it gets too cold. I’ll let Allura know you’ll be in the waiting room for her.” 

 

“Keith, call me if you need anything, alright?”

 

He got a nod in response as Keith picked his food up and shouldered open the door to Lance’s room, leaving Shiro out in the hall. The door clicked behind him and Allura’s head shot up, jarred out of her pensive state. The pink aura in the air evaporated.

 

“Keith? What are you doing back here?” Allura asked, pulling her hand back from Lance’s face. It was a quick motion- probably one she wasn’t aware had he’d seen before.  

 

Keith held up the bag. “Dinner. I brought some for me and Lance.” 

 

“Lance isn’t really-” 

 

“Shiro’s said he’s waiting for you in the waiting room.” Keith said, squinting. 

 

_ Go away.  _

 

Allura scoffed and stood up, brushing off her pencil skirt. She hardly matched Keith eye-for-eye. “I see. Listen, Keith, I appreciate all the effort you’ve been putting into this. It’s admirable, but don’t let it consume you.” 

 

“Noted.” He replied, walking past her and dropping his food down on the little white table. “I’ll be in contact later.” 

 

She walked out of the room, heels clicking with every step. Keith waited until the door shut softly behind her before he dropped into the chair, letting himself collapse into it’s cloth seating. Lance was asleep next to him, the deep eye bags still there, but far more color had than before. There was more pink to his lips and a warm brown under his cheeks. Even his hair was pulled back and fluffed, probably from Allura’s hand running through it-

 

Keith had to stop himself from reaching out and doing the same. Instead he diverted and grabbed his food instead, rooting around for a pair of chopsticks in the bag. 

 

* * *

 

 

Coran took a corner softly and Shiro felt the gentle turn of the car pulling at him. He stared out the window, hands folded and face stuck in a pained expression; his eyebrows knitted and his shoulders unintentionally hunched. The world was passing by outside the car and Shiro couldn’t bring himself to focus on the passing buildings and neon lights- his eyes were hazy and blurred. He ran his thumb over the metallic joint of his other hand, grounded in the cold metal surface. 

 

He didn’t remember getting his arm. Did he remember the pain of losing it? Yes. He still relieved it in his dreams, a hellscape that daunted him with realistic sounds and visions that woke him in a panic. He still saw the explosion play out in a thousand different ways and a million different scenarios of how it all could have gone down, what he could have done different, how he could have saved-

 

He pressed his eyes shut against the passing world. 

 

He didn’t remember getting his arm. Allura was responsible for it, somehow he could remember that above all else, but the formative memories of it all were gone. There were days where he sat at the kitchen table trying to piece it all together by either staring out the window or flipping through papers until he worked himself into a quiet panic. He could wake up and remember how to attach his cold metal arm in the morning lit bathroom of their home, feel his metal fingers flex where they’d once been flesh, but nothing of how they came to be like that. 

 

He remembered the attack and the panic that initially fueled him in that Altean outpost and the way he sprinted towards a series of buildings he knew contained something important, something  _ painfully  _ important, his blood blazing and chest pounding, but-

 

It all blanked out. His brain fizzled out and nothing was there to fill the abyss his mind held. 

 

The interior of the car was icy cold despite the blasting heat. He could feel himself shiver. 

 

“Shiro, is everything alright?” 

 

He dug the pads of his thumbs into his brow bone, pinching the skin there like so many times before. “No, I don’t think so.” 

 

Allura’s aura weaved it’s way around him and the scent of lilacs was nearly suffocating. “Do you need us to pull over?”

 

“No,” Shiro replied, pressing his forehead to the back of Allura’s seat, “Let’s just go home. Coran, do you still have those medical texts on auras? The ones we used for Lance?”

 

“I never leave home without them!”

 

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Keith picked his way through the tangled noodles, singling out the chicken bits. He sat hunched over unlike the first night night he’d sat with Lance, standing his tablet up against an empty glass. He’d poke at it with his free hand, searching through it’s information while Lance slept soundly next to him, occasionally shifting. 

 

_ forgetting memories _

 

_ memory loss _

 

Lance made a snorting noise and Keith paused mid-bite. He hesitated before slowly moving back into his rhythm and rooting around for more chicken. 

 

_ magic memory loss _

 

_ aura blackening and memory loss _

 

He saved what few links he found that seemed useful, bookmarking them and filling them away in a password-protected folder. He missed his printer and whiteboard- things were always easier to understand when he could pin them up and connect them by hand. 

 

A yawn overtook him; how long had he been awake now? He flicked through another tab. A breaking news report blinked out at him from an Altean news outlet and he tapped it, reclining back. Pain was building back up through his head and spreading behind his eyes, his headache from earlier rearing its ugly head. 

 

A nap might not hurt. Lance wasn’t awake yet and Keith had nowhere to go. He let his eyes close as the report played over tinney speakers. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ The academy desks weren’t built for someone like him. He lacked the layer of padding that made sitting for hours uncomfortable- something about his metabolism running faster than his body could process. Eventually they’d align but for now he’d have to live with it and shifting every few minutes.  _

 

_ Didn’t help that someone in the room was burning Lance up, making him sweat in the regulation uniform. Magical puberty or whatever- uncontrolled emotions made him squirm. He was so susceptible to the unfettered emotions of those around him, the energy and excitement and bustle of just existing- but someone was in pain.  _

 

_ Someone was in deep, terrifying pain, and he sat right behind Lance in basic healing charms. He’d clench his fists and Lance would have to scoot in his seat to avoid taking in all the emotions like a punch. He was missing the lecture entirely, but maybe he could help- _

 

_ He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Closed his eyes and winced with the pull. Directed all his attention and energy to the window, praying for the raindrops to reverse and for the pain to recede.  _

 

_ For a moment, it worked. The blistering maroon pain building in his chest stopped, and Lance didn’t shift again until his bones demanded it.  _

 

* * *

 

 

_ “...were apprehended during a routine check on the outskirts on Altea City earlier this evening. Both were wanted for outstanding warrants for their arrests in connection to various thefts and robberies around Altea-”  _

 

Lance missed the soft pull of his hair and the comforting rhythm of the hand that ran through it. His felt hollow and drained and the simple movement had allowed him to fall into a healing rhythm- something steady and calm for him to focus on instead of the ache in his bones. He’d mourned the loss of the delicate aura when it left the room, taking on an unsettled and jaded air before it was hidden away. It’d been replaced by a warmer feeling that filled up it’s loss almost exactly; A warmer aura that felt like sitting a little too close to a fire and tasted like hot cinnamon in the back of his throat. 

 

It was familiar in a way that made his chest hurt and feel strangled. A sharp pain radiated in the back of his head.

 

_ “...including the disappearance of multiple academy students over the last few years. It is unknown if they were traveling with a destination in mind.”  _

 

He could taste the tangy sweet scent in the air- food was nearby, and the smell alone was tempting him to fully wake up. But his bed was comfy, he was tired, and the radio voices were oddly luring. 

 

_ “...authorities are still asking any citizen with information to come forward. In other news, are you waiting too long to replace your plumbus? A new study from the Altean society for home and health magic has found-” _

 

The radio voices switched off. Lance shifted. He still lay bundled up but the aura next to him was overwhelming- the cinnamon burn was crawling up his throat and into his mouth. It was the same feeling he’d get when his cousins were young and throwing a tantrum; the burning sensation of anger. It mixed with the food smells and Lance’s stomach rolled.

 

He pulled his hand up from the tangle of blankets and stuck it out, ignoring the gentle tug back of the tubes attached. He groped around trying to find the source of the heat- the armchair, an actual arm, and then a balled up fist that remained tightly clenched. Lance put his hand there and gave the fist a gentle squeeze and the hot aura dimmed. 

 

It was like an anchor in the dark. A murky light for him to cling to as he shifted against the pull of sleep before giving back in, headache vanishing. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhmmmmmmm dont look at me its been so long since i updated and everything is mediocre? Anyways the plot will come back next chapter, i just couldnt muster it at all for this update
> 
> also if youre in school i hope eveything is going well and that you ace your finals 
> 
> rad, bye


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